By The Light of The Moon
by Clez
Summary: The whatif sequel to 'Silver Bullet'. What would life be like if one small detail changed, and everything you thought you knew... was wrong? What if one mistake turned your life upside down?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **So here it is… the long-awaited sequel (or as I like to call it 'sister-fic') to Silver Bullet. I've been musing on this for quite a while, and put a lot of thought into it, and whether or not I should write it. But, because Silver Bullet seemed so popular, I thought I would have a crack at a follow-up. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint. This first chapter is literally what I've called it… a prologue, through and through. Nothing more to it. Also, this plot might be quite odd and a little ambitious… just as forewarning. 

Oh! Almost forgot, thank you to those who read and reviewed the 'trailer'. That was especially fun to write. Special thanks once again to **Nightslash** for his help in the 'production' of it. I wouldn't have been able to bring that to you otherwise. Hopefully that whet your appetites, otherwise you wouldn't be here! *grin* Yeah, so anyway… it's not _essential_ that you've read Silver Bullet, but it most certainly would help if you were familiar with the particulars of the plot, etc. But enough of my waffling! On with the show…

* * *

                _Running_

_                His breath came in short gasps, though he felt no exhaustion. He was panting, though far from tired or weak. Strength filled him… and hunger, unbelievable hunger. Or was it lust?_

_                He was being chased… though by what he couldn't see. He was frightened, despite the previous feeling of immense strength. Something was after him, and it was getting closer. He turned, coming face to face with his worst nightmare._

_                Everything went dark._

_He heard a scream, and then felt the force grab at Jacques Beauvais, tearing him off the ground. The man's grip on him was so tight of course, that when he lifted off the ground, so did his captive._

_Jacques and he were thrown into the French double doors, and subsequently through it in a shower of wood and glass._

_                He gave a cry as something scratched his lower arm, and he prayed it wasn't Jacques, even as they slammed into the ground on the other side, the werewolf sprawling down the stone steps nearby._

_                He was outside again, under the moon… the moon, so bright and pure. He gasped. _

_                He screamed, loud, long and pained._

                Tom Sawyer shot bolt upright in his bed in a cold sweat, and gasped great lungfuls of air as though he had been submerged against his will, at risk of drowning. His chest heaved with the panting, and he closed his green eyes quickly, rubbing them with a single hand and groaning quietly.

                "Not again…"

                He swung his legs out from under the sweat-soaked blankets, and placed his bare feet firmly on the ground, hanging his head in his hands and slowly regulating his breathing rhythm. He trembled. He didn't know why, and forced himself to stop, to open his eyes and come to grips with the fact that it was only a dream… a bad dream, but a _dream_ nevertheless. 

                The haunting memories… he couldn't shake them. They took over every unconscious moment, whenever he closed his eyes to sleep; all he could see were flashes of what had happened. It wouldn't leave his memory, no matter how hard he tried to force it out, to think of other things.

                The rest of the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ tried to help him in their own individual ways… but lately he didn't feel like having company. He always tried to find some excuse to be free of them, to retreat to his own cabin and be alone. Then the memories would haunt him again, flash in vivid clarity behind his eyelids whenever he closed them. So far, he had managed about six or seven hours sleep in three days. 

                On top of it all, he had been feeling unwell. These constant nightmares certainly didn't help, although an illness could facilitate in explaining them, he realised. The resident doctor had cleared him from the infirmary about a month ago after the ordeal with Charles Evans and his… men, and now Tom Sawyer was starting to wish he hadn't been released from the medical facilities. Maybe if he'd stayed there, the doctor could have found out about his dreams and symptoms. He couldn't sleep anymore; he woke up in a cold sweat every night; he had started to run a slight fever; he was looking pale in the mirror. 

                Tom ran a hand through his damp blonde locks of hair, brushing it lazily from his brow, and stood from the bed. His leg was much better now, and he had no trouble walking on it. The shallow stab wound – painful nonetheless – from Evans' cane sword had certainly given him a limp for a while. All the ache and soreness had passed, thankfully. The stab wound in his right side… he checked on it every now and then… and for days now he had not needed to change a dressing or clean the wound contrary to what had been explained. It had closed over entirely, and was already starting to fade. 

                It didn't make any sense, and that frightened Tom. It scared him more than he wanted to admit. He crossed into his bathroom, and stared in the mirror there, tilting it slightly. As before, his skin had lost a little colour. He looked worn and thin. Something was wrong with him.

                _What is happening to me?_ Tom kept thinking, and he leaned on the basin, trying to clear his head. A pounding headache had just started fiercely in his temples, apparently quite keen on breaking his skull apart from the inside. He groaned again, and stared down at his hands. His soulful eyes travelled up his arm, and stopped. He released his grip on the basin rim, and stood firmly on both feet, raising one arm to the light.

                Tom ran his fingertips lightly over the skin where he had found a shard of glass embedded after his little flight through the doors with Jacques Beauvais, a former employee of Evans. The werewolf had been trying to 'turn' him, and had been stopped by…

                Anise Delacroix. Tom's hand fell from his arm, the slight scar forgotten to the memory of her face; the ever-lingering scent of her delicate perfume in his cabin; the way her hair had felt like silk against his face and hands; her smile… the way she had died willingly to end all the horror she had reluctantly wreaked in Evans' employ.

                Tom's eyes swam with tears, and he turned from the mirror. He was wide-awake again, and he crossed back into the bedroom to dress. He pulled on his pants hurriedly, and grabbed a – he guessed – clean shirt from off the back of his desk chair. Tom slipped it on, and quickly located his waistcoat. Not feeling right without them, he pulled on his holsters and Colt pistols, checking they were secure before unhooking his long black coat from the rack. He donned it slowly as he went out of his cabin, and searched the corridor for signs of life.

                Making his way through the ship, he found his now-booted feet taking him to the conning tower. He didn't resist the lure of some fresh air… fresh, Paris air.

                They had been docked in Paris for a little over twenty-four hours now, and the way it almost smelled slightly sweet intrigued Tom Sawyer. The American Secret Service agent climbed the steps, thinking about how he and his invisible friend had taken a 'leisurely' stroll through the market before Tom had felt quite ill, and had to come back to the Nautilus. 

                Pushing open the door to the outside, Tom took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He looked up, seeing the slight twinkling of the stars above, a clear night when the moon could shine down without the bother of clouds. Tom paused, and stared at it. He tilted his head to one side, shook it, and cast his gaze out over the mysterious wanly lit rooftops of Paris. Some of the crew of the Nautilus were patrolling the dock, keeping unwelcome visitors at bay. One such gentleman – who looked rather intoxicated from where Tom stood – was trying his best to get a closer look, but one of the sailors was pushing him away. One of his companions went to aid in the shooing.

                Tom gave a slight smile, and then held a hand to his side abruptly as it burned without warning. His breathing quickened, and he felt the fever course through him again. He closed his eyes slowly, and tried to ease the odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, quickly swelling up within him.

                Suddenly he didn't feel so good.


	2. MIA

**Author's Note: **Hi everyone. It's me, Clez. Nice to see you all. Glad you enjoyed the prologue as well. I know it was short, and a 'wicked tease' (if you've seen a particular **_LXG_** deleted scene, or read the novel, that will make sense) for leaving it where I did… but it _did_ get the intended response! Tension! How I love it. Yes, so anyway, I'm sitting here listening to my 'Underworld' soundtrack, and getting inspiration from a 'Van Helsing' trailer. *sigh* That film is gonna be so cool. *slaps self* **_LXG!_** Sorry… got distracted, sinfully. Yeah so anyway, here's chapter two, after some shout outs:

**Rayne – ***hands you some cookies for your wait* Sorry if I kept you in suspense, my friend. Hope this satisfies your need to read more :D

**nobleblue – **Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed _'Silver Bullet'_. It was a treat and a challenge to write, and it was so successful that I thought I'd write an AU sequel. Why not, eh?

**RogueSparrow – **Ah yes, the favoured 'Dorian glare'… everyone is trying that recently. Hehe. Usually works quite well, but you gave in to defeat. Amazingly, you _did_ make sense… at least to me… hmmm…

**Raven Silvers – **Thank you for the claim of brilliance, my dear friend, Raven. You know your comments mean a lot to me. I couldn't let you have a sneak! It wouldn't have been fair! :P Hehe.

**freeformchick – **Thank you most kindly.

**Emily M. Hanson – **Mini series? Why, it's a full-length! :D I hope you enjoy it!

**drowchild – **Ack! *takes cover from your outburst* Wow… I think I may have made your day, huh? Talk to you on AOL!

**Sethoz – ***throws a bag of Buttons to you, cuz she knows you've run out* Now, now, my dear Sethoz… when have you _ever_ known me to write Tom angst, physical or mental? *bursts out laughing* I know, I know! Funny thought! Worth a try…

* * *

                Steam swirled from the cup that sat in front of Rodney Skinner, self-proclaimed gentleman thief, and he sighed deeply and heavily. It was late, but other than Sawyer, none of the _League_ members even let the thought of sleep cross their minds at this hour. Skinner made it obvious he was watching his cup, and then remembered he hadn't applied his greasepaint, and frowned. No one could even see his face. The glasses were abandoned as well. After all… he _had_ been doing his own thing – consisting of drinking and giving in to boredom – before the meeting had been called to discuss certain 'matters'.

                He shrugged his leather coat back onto his otherwise bare shoulders properly, and settled back into his seat, eyeing the shadow his wide-peaked trilby cast onto the polished surface of the table. Skinner listened intently to the others, though he made no obvious sign of his attentiveness.

                "So," began the smooth voice of Wilhelmina Harker from her place to Skinner's left, "we are in agreement then." She paused here, to take in the faces of her fellows, and sipped from her cup of hot tea. She looked radiant as ever. Her silken auburn tresses of hair were pinned up neatly in her trademark bun, out of her flawless smooth-skinned face and her icy blue eyes. Her full lips were formed into a line of pensive consideration, but no lines marred her forehead. Her feminine fingers, so lean and yet so precise when she was working, embraced the cup she drank from, and Skinner shuddered despite himself at the beauty she gave off in waves. Wearing her usual effeminate skirts of black, and her blouse of fine white material, Mina – as she preferred to be called sometimes – looked ever the part of the intelligent scientist.

                "I won't deny that he has been acting oddly," was the response that Mina drew from their resident medical expert, Doctor Henry Jekyll. He sat opposite Skinner, and the invisible man turned his head to regard his friend – the two had grown quite close as of late, and were spending a lot of time together, as much as Jekyll sometimes tried to shoo Skinner out of 'his infirmary'. Ever the gentleman, Jekyll was perched as straight as a pole in his chair, leaning forward ever so slightly on the table with his hands knitted together on the immaculate surface. He was dressed as smartly as ever – which always surprised Skinner – in his pressed and cleaned shirt, tie and jacket suit, complete with pocket watch dangling from a delicate chain. His thin chestnut hair was combed over one side of his head neatly, and his brown eyes perused the faces of his companions.

                The third member to speak was sitting at the head of the table, owner, designer and builder of the mighty ship that hummed and churned around them as they sat alongside Paris. Captain Nemo was a proud, stern man who never betrayed his emotions in his eyes or his lined, wise face. His dark gaze was enough to reduce the strongest and bravest of men to a whimper and a curt 'aye, sir'. He was not a man to be taken lightly, especially when dressed – as ever – in his regal shades of blue and white, all sashes and trimmings, topped off with an elegant turban. An ornamental sword hung in a black scabbard at a belt round his waist, and Skinner himself had seen the Indian man put it to damn good use. "I concur with Dr. Jekyll's assessment. Our friend is indeed not himself."

                Skinner sighed. Perhaps he should attempt to be the voice of reason for once. He almost chuckled, before managing to utter, "Give him a break, 'eh? He's had a rough time of it… poor kid."

                "I doubt Agent Sawyer would appreciate the reference to his youth," Mina began to Skinner's left, astute as ever, "but perhaps you _are_ correct. He has had a lot to deal with as of late. What with his ordeal, and then the death of Miss Delacroix to top it all off, I don't blame him for withdrawing into himself." She paused once again, ever the one for tension and atmosphere.

                _Do vampires always feel the need to take the mood out of proportion I wonder? She always seems to need everyone on edge… maybe it comes from the whole Dracula ordeal… melodrama is part of her nature, perhaps._

                Regular as clockwork, she persisted after a long pensive moment, "But nevertheless, this still does not explain his appetite and appearance. He has taken to having his meals in his cabin instead of in our company, and last I saw of our American friend, he was pale. Doctor… are you certain he has not taken ill?"

                Jekyll shrugged his lean shoulders slowly. "I examined him not long ago, two days maybe, and he seemed fine. He's healing extremely well, considering what he endured. He was running a slight temperature, but I accounted that for the healing itself. It's taking a lot out of him to get back to how he was, Mrs. Harker."

                Skinner nodded, and then realised – yet again – that no one would see the movement. "He's not wrong. Remember how I was after my toasting?"

                "Not exactly the same, Skinner," Mina voiced, and Skinner frowned at her abruptness, before she softened and continued, "I realise the burning must have taken a lot out of you, but Agent Sawyer almost died, and lost someone in the process. It has certainly taken its toll on him."

                Nemo shook his head carefully back and forth, dragging out the motion as he raised his cup to drink. "It is an unfortunate sequence of events indeed. Agent Sawyer will no doubt recover in time. He simply needs our support, guidance and patience."

                _I hope you're right, mate. I rather enjoyed the kid's company before all this werewolf rubbish_, Skinner thought with a furrowed brow. He scratched his chin, causing the sleeve of his jacket to draw up from under the table and hover for a moment, before dropping to the tabletop. "Who was the last to speak with him anyway?"

                "I was," Mina said, and then let an edge linger as she added, "as usual."

                "Now, now," Skinner hastened to say, and his eyes met her face, "no need for an attitude. You _are_ the only one he opens up to, after all! Last I saw of him, he barely said two words… if that. So don't go getting all high-and-mighty because you're best o' chums. It isn't our fault he doesn't want our company. He picks and chooses who he wants to socialise with, and I, for one, am not going to push him, all right?"

                Mina reeled discreetly from the verbal attack, and visibly drew back into her chair, watching the steam rise from her delicate cup before muttering, "Very well… my apologies. I know very well that everyone here has the best intentions at heart, but Agent Sawyer needs intimacy, not our subtlety. It might help to open him up if we approach _him_ for a change."

                Jekyll and Nemo nodded their acknowledgements. They were in agreement with Mina Harker. At least one of them was due to reason, Skinner knew. Jekyll – like Skinner himself – had been yearning for Mina's affections since the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ had started out not a year previous. Skinner was still shocked the British had instated them as an official line of defence. _Not that it doesn't reward, of course_, he thought with a light, wry smile.

                Mina nodded, and then eyed Skinner… or rather, the vacant void where his head should have been, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

                Skinner caught the not-so-subtle hint, and rolled his eyes. "I'm up for it. In fact, just to show how willing I am to take part in this 'endeavour' to return our plucky American friend to his old self, I'll go check on him right now."

                "At eleven-fourty, Mr. Skinner?" Mina asked of him, cup and saucer in her hands. She looked quite the prim lady as she sat there, and Skinner almost laughed. The first time he had seen the _real_ Mina Harker, he had been intrigued and frightened both at once. After all, watching a vampire tear the very throat from a man was quite a sight to behold, even for someone such as Skinner, who had prowled the less-than-hospitable streets of London for many years.

                He stood from his chair – which was far from comfortable right now for some reason – and nodded, saying, "Why not? You said so yourself, Mina," he noted the scornful look he received for being so bold as to address her so, "he's been looking rather tired lately. Stands to reason he isn't getting much shut-eye, doesn't it?"

                "I suppose you are right."

                _'Suppose'? She knows perfectly well that I **am** right. I wonder why it pains her to say something like that though._

                So it was that Rodney Skinner departed the room, abandoning his still-steaming cup of tea. Three helpings of the stuff in one sitting were more than he could take, after years of acquainting his liver to substances such as scotch, and sherry. By far, they were his beverages of choice. He wasn't used to drinking so much sobering liquids, and it didn't seem to suit him. Perhaps, from years of drowning his sorrows and worries in liquor bottles and shot glasses, he had grown to despise teas and other such sensible drinks. Who knew?

                Not Skinner, that was sure. It bothered him very little, as well, when he pondered on it a little more. The rest of the _League_ were more than welcome to waste away with the mind-numbing tediousness that was tea, and other non-alcoholic beverages… but Skinner would choose scotch, sherry and their familiars any day.

                Without realising it, Skinner had come upon Agent Tom Sawyer's cabin already. He had passed the time of the journey by debating drinks in his mind, and that suited him perfectly. It was one of his favourite topics. That and women…

                _Now, now, concentrate, Rodney. You've got a good deed to do, and you're going to **do** it._ Of course, one of the first truly 'good' deeds he had undertaken had left him with agonising burns as a reward, of all things. _Maybe I should rethink the whole hero occupation. _

                On second thought, it was quite rewarding, he realised as he rapped his knuckles on the cabin door lightly. Waiting for a number of moments, and humming a tune to himself, the silence told him that Sawyer was quite possibly asleep.

                "Can't hurt to be sure," Skinner muttered, and carefully tried the door. Unlocked… perfect. He opened it carefully and silently, his stealth second-nature now. He poked his head inside the door, careful not to dislodge the large trilby, and peered around.

                The bed was unoccupied, and the bathroom was dark. On top of that, Sawyer's jacket and holsters were gone from their lodgings. Skinner mumbled thoughtfully, and pulled the door closed once more as he pondered on where the young American could be.

                _Maybe he went to get something to eat… with his coat? No… that's not right._ Then he smiled as he came to the only conclusion. _Conning tower_.

                 He whistled a jaunty tune to himself as he traversed the corridors, using the map in his mind to make his way up to the bridge, and conning tower ladder that resided close by. It took him very little time, and he was soon bracing himself for the chill of the metal rungs of the ladder that would no doubt await his feet. He let out a slow breath as his suspicions were confirmed, and clambered steadily up to the conning tower. 

                _Maybe it wouldn't hurt to wear some socks and shoes from time to time_, he realised, and then pondered – for the first time, miraculously – just how Nemo's crew got the target practise equipment outside. He halted just at the door to the tower, before shrugging it off. It didn't really matter to him anyway. 

                Skinner pushed open the door slowly, lest he knock the young man over or anything similar, and emerged into the cool night air of Paris, France. "Sawyer?" he called into the darkness, and looked left and right, even up to the very tip of the tower, in case the impulsive American had taken it upon himself to clamber up for a better view of the clear sky, with its vast black, dotted with bright stars, topped off in its beauty by the crescent moon. Skinner took a moment to bask in the glory, and then shook his head as he remembered his purpose. He really did daydream too much lately.

                _Is it still called 'daydreaming' if it's night and you're still awake?_ The thought drew a chuckle from him, and he circled the entire tower in search of his friend before almost stumbling over something on the floor.

                He was about to rant about people leaving potential hazards lying about when his eyes – he had forgotten the colour of them himself long ago – rested upon the source of such an obstruction. 

                "Uh oh," he mumbled, and bent down to pick up Sawyer's long black jacket. Not far from this item of shed clothing were the young man's holsters and guns, discarded and left without regard. Skinner slung the jacket over his arm, and retrieved one of the guns from the holster, flipping it open as Sawyer had once showed him, checking the rounds. All six were still in the chamber. A similar check of the other Colt revealed the same result, and Skinner felt a lump form in his throat.

                Sawyer was nowhere in sight.

* * *

                Down along the docks some distance from the Nautilus; _'Sword of the Ocean'_, a small fishing boat had just pulled in to harbour, and was being tied securely when the passenger stepped up onto firm, dry land once again. He took in a deep breath of the familiar night air, that which he had sampled not long ago, and smiled grimly.

                Ah yes, this was it. If he looked down to his right, and squinted just enough, he could almost make out the surfaced submarine and its blinking lights. The Nautilus was indeed in Paris, as his informant had… well, informed him. 

                He took from his inner jacket pocket a small satchel, fastened with a leather tassel, and pulled it open. He took some coins from inside, and slipped them into the cool, dry skin of the fisherman's hand, thanking him for his hospitality. With that, he took his leave of the friendly gentleman, and started off down the dock at a leisurely pace, hands in his pockets, humming lightly to himself. A large portion of his bearded face was cast into shadow by his travelling hat, and he looked out from under its peak with dark, soulful eyes. It was a beautiful, peaceful night.

                Peaceful, that was, until all the dogs in the area started yowling with everything they had. 

* * *

**A/N2: **Okay, make all the assumptions you want. And before anyone points it out, I know this chapter was devoid entirely of anything Tom Sawyer-based… unless you count a coat and some guns. It's not cruel, it builds… wait for it… just a little longer… patience is a virtue… that's right, you guessed it: **tension!** Ah, how I love it. Rightio, enough of my babbling. Expect the next update in a couple of days, or whenever I feel like it… only kidding. You know you can count on me… when have I ever let you guys down, huh?


	3. All In The Eyes

**Author's Note: **Well, chapter two went down a treat, 'eh? Well… not really. I think people are getting their rubber chickens at the ready… that or the frying pans. Hmm… good thing this came pretty soon, wouldn't you say? Or I'd be a throttled, battered mess on the floor… oh dear… ah yes! Before I forget. I went ahead and made a brand new page on my website, dedicated to this story alone. It has its own link in the navigation bar of my site (which you can find the link to through my bio), and it has lots of basis pictures and some collected details. Feel free to take a peek.

**freeformchick: **Thank you for that comment. This one was actually more planned out than any before it, because I had the 'trailer' to consider.

**RogueSparrow: ***shudders* Now _that_ is a Dorian glare… okay, okay… here you go! Don't hurt me! 

**Rayne: **Yeah, I had a lot of fun writing that chapter, and I don't know why. It was gone midnight, and that all just… flowed through my fingertips to the keyboard, you know? I guess that just happens sometimes. Some people call it rambling…

**Naitriab: **I'm quickly growing quite fond of Skinner, which is why he's started to feature in my fics more. He's a very fun character, and he's a good one to use when you just want to… vent. As for Skinner's past… that just kind of happened without me realising, heh.

**Raven: **Oi, you, using our joint account to sign reviews, lol! Hehe, only kidding. Don't squeeze that plushie too hard or you'll strangle the poor thing. I _have_ dabbled in horror before… but that was bit different… and besides, this _is_ a werewolf story *wink*.

**Sethoz: **I forgot to tell you off for hitting me in the face with Buttons *growls*. Don't do that again… it hurt *rubs face*. *sees the rabid chipmunks, screams and runs for the hills*

**Graymoon74:** I was deeply touched by your comments. Thank you. I've never had anyone say that about my work before, and it meant a lot. *chuckles about your comment referring to a Nemo twin*

**Leigh S. Durron: **Ah yes… cliff hangers… how I adore them. Bwahaha!

* * *

                "I'm telling you, something's wrong. The kid wouldn't just leave his stuff up on the tower and _disappear_ on us now, would he?"

                "Mr. Skinner, panicking will get us no closer to finding our answers." Nemo stood next to the mostly invisible man, and arched a dark eyebrow, shaded eyes pensive and considering the coat and guns in their holsters, in Skinner's hands. The rest of the _League_ was gathered around him, and he had proclaimed three times what had happened.

                He was about to start again when Mina Harker held up a hand. "Stop… you've already said it. Something _is_ wrong, but we must keep calm. There is a logical explanation for all of this, as there usually is. If he is in danger, we _will_ find him. We always do… we won't abandon him." Her blue eyes were full of determination, and for a moment the men thought they saw a flash of feral scarlet in them. None of them wished to dwell on this sign, and let it pass for what it truly was… only a possibility. They might have imagined it.

                "So what do we do?" Dr. Jekyll asked of his collected companions, feeling the thick tension hovering, and not liking it one bit. He wanted to get out of this stuffy room and be useful. He hated standing about, feeling useless.

                Mina eyed them each in turn, a wave of concern attacking her for only a moment, before it was replaced by reason anew. "We are to go into the city. I will be able to track Agent Sawyer…"

                Skinner simply placed the jacket and guns – holsters and all – on the table, saying, "Well I'm ready."

                "Do not be hasty, Skinner," Mina warned him, and nodded for Nemo and Jekyll to leave and prepare theirselves, as she would need to. "We must have our wits about us, not rush off blindly into the night. Agent Sawyer is a perfectly capable young man. They didn't make him part of the Secret Service for nothing."

                With that, before the Londoner could make a retaliation, she was departing the room, and heading to her own cabin to prepare for their endeavour into the city. Once out of the double doors, she let the concern hit her truly, and she frowned deeply. What if something _had_ happened to Tom Sawyer? He wasn't well… he was not himself, and therefore incapable of proper defence. He could be wounded… in grave danger, and they were running on a clock.

* * *

                Skinner bounced on his toes as he stood outside the ramp from the Nautilus, letting his eyes peruse the area. He had removed his jacket and trilby not moments before – handing them to a trusty crewman of Nemo's – and was waiting only for his fellow _League_ members. They certainly were taking their time. He wished he had a watch, or some way to tell the hour. He grumbled, and rubbed his invisible hands together to try and keep out the chill of the night.

                _Oh, come on, how long does it take to get ready when someone's bloody life is at stake?_ Skinner scowled into the belly of the Nautilus, and as a result – though he knew his glaring far from caused it – Dr. Jekyll and Captain Nemo emerged from behind one of the doors, the former looking rather timid.

                The doctor was afraid of letting Edward Hyde – his alter ego – out from the confines of his body… Skinner knew this well, almost as much as the doctor himself knew it, perhaps even more so. Jekyll was terrified of Hyde… not that Skinner blamed him. The monstrous bulk wasn't exactly all about the cuddles and kisses. He was more of a 'dismember and pummel' kind of man.

                "Has Mrs. Harker not yet arrived?" Nemo asked, his hand on his sword's hilt as ever. He cast his eyes about, before letting them land on the spot where Skinner's breath was visibly curling away from his lips as cool steam. 

                "I haven't seen her."

                Of course, always one for dramatic entrances, Mina Harker chose that exact moment to throw open the door and stride up to them, all business and ready for action, dressed in leathers and trousers, the skirts abandoned and left in her cabin. Her hair had been removed from its trappings, and hung around her face, suddenly curled. Skinner had been meaning to inquire about that… was it some sort of vampiric trait?

                _It's got to be. Women I've seen have either had naturally curly hair, or they've had to sit through hours of torture to get locks like that._

                Mina's eyes locked on Skinner's form then, and he almost started with the abruptness of it. "I see we are all present and accounted for," came her light, soft tones, yet so full of determination, "shall we?"

                And with that, she pushed through to the front of the group, and descended the ramp, not even giving them a second glance as she called out behind her, "And, Doctor? Perhaps it would be an apt time to let out our good friend, Mr. Hyde?"

                Jekyll gave a mumbled reply, fished a corked bottle out of his pocket, and went about his drinking it.

                Skinner turned his head as Henry Jekyll disappeared into himself, twisting and deforming to become the hulking mass of muscle and flesh that was Edward Hyde, who cracked his neck, as if checking he was out in the open, before grinning, showing all his teeth. "What fun have you for me this evening?"

                "No fun," Mina called back to him, and she was standing some few feet away, stock still on the road, her chin up as she took in a scent of the air, "we have to find Agent Sawyer."

                Hyde groaned. "Why is it always that brat giving me a headache?"

                Skinner raised his eyebrows as he cast his gaze about, trying to locate any sign of their missing companion. He knew Mina wouldn't take lightly to Hyde's name for Sawyer.

                And she didn't… not exactly. Her icy gaze turned back to the looming Hyde, and she lowered her brow dangerously. "Agent Sawyer has not fully recovered from his ordeal, _Mr._ Hyde, and I will thank you to take on your duty with some semblance of sincerity. I am in no mood for your quibbles this evening. If you do not wish to aid us in our search, you can be returned to the ice room, and chained until your formula is done… am I understood?" She was facing him now, legs wide apart, full of attitude, and Skinner had to admit he took a timid step back from her. She was quite imposing when dressed for action… not to mention stunning. Shaking his head swiftly, Skinner looked to Hyde for his response.

                The large man that had burst out of Jekyll sneered openly, eyes narrowing and catching the light so that they gleamed threateningly for only a moment, before he grunted. That was his only show of consent, and then they were pushing forth into the shaded streets of Paris. Skinner suddenly wished he had a weapon… he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, though the very concept was ridiculous. He couldn't even see _himself_.

* * *

                Captain Nemo was – by nature – a very cautious, alert man. He kept every sense highly tuned in case of such a situation where his reactions would need to be swift, and this was one of those times. His hand forever rested warily and readily on the hilt of his ornate sword, and his eyes scanned the darkness, waiting for any sign of movement, ears pricked for the faintest sound of approaching danger.

                He heard nothing… saw nothing. They were alone in their search. It was growing later, and the moon cast eerie shadows down all around them, providing pockets of cover for anyone waiting for a perfect ambush. 

                "I suggest we split up," he finally said, beginning to feel that staying in a group confined them and only served to drag their search out longer than it needed to be. "It will be much quicker if we were to spread out in the area."

                "I agree," came Skinner's shuddering response. The man was growing cold, and was no longer able to hide it completely. "Might get us to Sawyer a lot quicker anyway… maybe he just left for a few drinks, 'eh?"

                "I doubt that," Mrs. Harker responded coolly, and nodded to Nemo. "I concur. We will split up, and search individually. Any sign of trouble, and don't hesitate to attract attention by any means necessary." And then she was gone, bats exploding around her, as she physically broke apart and fluttered away to her rooftops exploration. She would have a good vantage point from up on the buildings, and would no doubt reveal some answers soon enough.

                Before Nemo was even aware, Hyde had stomped off into the gloom, and vanished like a ghost, surprisingly stealthy for someone of his mass. Nemo lost sight of him – miraculously enough – within moments. 

                "I'll be going this way then," Skinner said, and shuffled off as well. Nemo heard his retreat for a few seconds, and then the patter of bare feet was gone altogether.

                Nemo stood in the middle of the street for a while, glancing this way and that, considering his options, before, with an arching of the brow, he took off resolutely in the direction left for him by the others.

* * *

                His memories of this place – not Henry Jekyll's – were rather fond. Carnage, rape, murder… who wouldn't look back on those with a smile? Such as the smile Edward Hyde wore at the very moment he turned a corner, and took a moment to think back on such times. Of course, when Jekyll had taken back control of his own faculties, he had been disgusted… even vomited once or twice. Edward had only laughed.

                But now his mind turned to other things as a strange scent greeted him on the delicate nighttime breeze. He took a moment to drink it in, and his forehead creased in contemplation. He grunted quietly, and twisted his body round to glance behind him. Nothing… a vast pocket of blackness that stretched out from whence he had come. 

                Edward turned his head back to his previous course, and halted in his steps, listening carefully. Everything had suddenly gone _very_ quiet.

* * *

                Skinner felt a chill run down his spine as he heard a shuffling in the alley next to him, and then a clatter, like the sound a bottle makes upon rolling across stone. He knew the sound well. He peered into the darkness, and then glanced up to the sky, trying to find any sign of Mina Harker that he could, in the hopes that she would swoop down and help him to investigate the noise.

                Then he heard something approaching from out of the darkness… _fast_. His heart raced in his chest, and his eyes opened as wide as they could, breath escaping him in little bursts with fright, as something exploded out of the dark, cannoning into him and throwing him to the floor.

                It was only when he dared to look up that he saw a person instead of a frightful apparition, as his imagination had teased him with. The person was looking left and right for the obstruction he had collided with, clearly terrified beyond reason.

                "Hey, calm down!"

                The young man jumped almost an entire foot into the air, and scrambled back some distance.

                "It's all right! I'm not a ghost or anything, I'm just… invisible," Skinner urged, and the young man seemed to calm. His light eyes fixed on the position the voice was originating from, and he seemed to ease visibly.

                "… English?"

                "That's right," Skinner replied, and he got to his knees. "Now what's got you so scared? You frightened the life out of me burstin' out of there!" He pointed at the alley mouth before remembering how useless it was, and letting his arm fall to his side again. 

                The man – who could have been no older than twenty at least – shook his head, black hair shifting with the movement, and he showed clear signs of deciphering what Skinner had said. There was an obvious concentration on his face. "I saw…" he pointed down the alley, "there is a monster. I saw it… there is another man, and I could not tell him. I ran away before it saw me. Horrible!"

                Skinner cocked his head, and then turned it in the direction of the alley mouth. "What'd it look like?" he asked, a little nervous now.

                It was at that moment that Mina strode up behind Skinner, obviously having landed from her bat exploration some distance off, attracted by the disturbance. "What is it?" was her immediate inquiry, and Skinner looked up at her.

                "I was just asking this young man what scared the hell out of him, but considerin' he's French and I'm not… perhaps you could help?"

                As if to show him up, Mina began a dialect with the young man in fluent French, her use of the language flawless and irritably perfect. Skinner scowled, knowing she wouldn't see it, and just listened – for what little good it did him – to the indecipherable exchange.

                After many tense minutes, where Skinner's impatience wore rather thin, Mina turned to him, and relayed the details; "He says it was a hideous monster, like nothing he has ever seen, not even in books. It was huge, with eyes of silver, and a mouth full of fangs. It had thick black hair, and resembled a giant dog."

                "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

                "I highly doubt that," Mina teased inappropriately, and Skinner rolled his eyes, "but if you are assuming that perhaps something very similar to Evans' prior acquaintances lurks in Paris… I would agree with you."

                Skinner nodded to the still-present young man, who Mina quickly dismissed. He clearly didn't need to be told twice, and took off like a rocket into the night. "So now what do we do?"

                Mina's sea-blue eyes turned slowly in the direction of the alley mouth, and with a whisper of metal on metal, one of her silver daggers was revealed in the moonlight. Skinner swallowed.

                "Right… why did I know you were gonna suggest that?" 

                He received no response, and only followed the vampire into the shadows, wishing he wasn't unarmed.

* * *

                Wilhelmina Harker had every one of her senses alert for danger. Her blue eyes pierced the darkness with ease, and she scanned every shadow, every alcove for something like what the young frightened man had described. Her ears were ready to catch even the smallest sound that floated across the night air to them, and she froze when she thought she heard a muffled scream, and with her experience, noted the terror behind it.

                She didn't even signal to Skinner as she bolted down the alleyway, her dagger still in her hand, glinting whenever it caught the wan light of the crescent moon as she moved with swift, agile precision over the obstructions. Skinner was less graceful in his pursuit, and though he tried to be as quiet and stealthy as he could – and normally was without trouble – he succeeded in making quite a racket. Mina would chide him later… right now they had a dangerous situation on their hands.

                But as she turned the corner in the alley, coming to a dead end, she froze at once, feeling Skinner more or less ram into her. She was mostly hidden in her black clothing, melting into the shadows all around. She almost dropped her dagger at the sight, even though the thing had yet to see or hear them.

                 It was huge, coming close to seven and a half feet, easily, great sinewy limbs hanging dangerously at its sides as it loomed over something – the aforementioned abandoned man – on the floor. Great, meaty hands were spread wide, taloned claws formidable and deadly, clearly visible in the darkness. Its back heaved as it took great panting breaths, a low threatening rumble of a growl piercing the silence. Tattered clothing hung from its lower quarters, the seams of the fabric splitting around the waist and lower leg. Its feet were bare, and gigantic, great pounding paws that no doubt packed quite a kick, on the end of stocky legs. The knees seemed to have deformed slightly, and Mina imagined they had snapped backwards to make the legs more powerful, like those of wild animals, such as a wolf or a tiger. As the light ran across its rippling muscular form, the thick, dark hair was visible, coarse but carrying a shine to it that was intriguing for only a moment. Its spine arched as it let another snarl break forth from its throat.

                Mina drew her secondary dagger, spinning it in her grasp so that the blade pointed down, the reverse of the first weapon. The noise had the desired effect. The creature's tall ears pricked, and then flattened back against the broad powerful skull.

                It twisted its massive body, and she saw the face… the huge, frightening, yet oddly captivating head and face of the monster. It drew back its jowls in a fierce growl, baring two rows of razor sharp fangs, long canines dripping with saliva as it opened its maw slightly, its large tongue visible for a moment as it licked against the teeth. The ears flattened even further back, right against the thick hair that covered every inch of its head and body. Its muzzle was rather short, like a hunting dog's whose breed had been created to charge through the undergrowth… all its features kept close in, out of danger of being caught on bushes and thistles. 

                But perhaps the most unnerving – and at the same time astounding – detail about that huge face, were the eyes… the slitted pools of silver that seemed to shine like some forbidden liquid, the light catching them and revealing them to have no pupil or iris… they were solid grey, alight with fury at the interruption. They bore into Mina and she prayed the beast could not see Skinner in any way. She would have told him to run if it would not have revealed his position. The eyes still fixed on her for a long, tense moment, before with a deafening bellow, it launched, its hind legs pushing its mass off the ground and throwing it through the air towards her.

                She took the oppurtunity that presented itself, and rolled forward on the ground underneath it as it soared above, and she came up in a feline crouch of preparation, blades pointed outward, and ready. She hissed, and felt her eyes darken and redden. She growled in return as the beast landed, putting its large front limbs down first, and landing like a cat from a great height, with astounding ease and grace. The back legs touched down, and it spun at once, lifting the forearms from the ground, and flexing its thick, clawed fingers. 

                She pounced at it, taking caution in her movements, trying not to present herself as an easy target. If this were what she and Skinner had guessed it to be… like with Evans' men, she still felt no urge to experiment in the effects a cut or bite would have on her. It could very well kill her.

                She landed on the thing's shoulders, and raised a dagger to strike at the base of the skull, but one of the massive arms struck her from her perch, and she was sent sprawling to the ground, just as the would-be victim scampered out of the alley altogether.

                Mina lost one of her blades in the landing, and quickly twisted her body around to see the beast approaching, furious and poised for the killing blow. 

                Before it had come within four feet of her, various items from the floor around started heaving themselves up and sailing through the air, striking the bulk. The creature snarled angrily, and turned, just to be hit in the head by a can. The assault stopped at once, and she heard the nervous chuckle of Skinner.

                The beast took a sniff on the air with its canine black nose, and advanced on where Mina knew very well the invisible man was. 

                A roar of ferocity announced the presence of Edward Hyde as he launched from the rooftop and tackled the beast. The two rolled around with great vehemence for a few moments, before Dr. Jekyll's strong alter ego sent it crashing back into the side of a building. It yelped loudly, and rather pitifully for something of its size and formidable power, and Mina furrowed her brow for a moment, before snapping into action.

                In the blink of an eye, she was back on her feet, dagger in her hand as Hyde proceeded to pin the beast against the wall behind it. It snapped and snarled in a rage, eyes glinting with the light.

                Mina came up before it, standing in front of Hyde, who kept it well and truly held forcefully against the wall without chance of escape, and raised her dagger to strike. 

                The head turned down to her, and she froze, locking gazes with it. She tilted her head as the animal growled, their eyes staring into one another, perhaps trying to find some sort of understanding.

                The red melted from her oculi, and she stared into the silver pools with ice blue irises. It glared right back, and then she saw it… a flash of something shocking in them. There was an unmistakable wavering in the eyes, a moment were Mina Harker had caught the momentary flash of green… it couldn't be.

                Her gaze sank to the material that clung to its legs and lower frame, and she gasped, reeling back and dropping her dagger.

                "What are you waiting for, woman?" Hyde grumbled, struggling with the beast.

                "What's wrong?" Skinner called as he came to her side. Her eyes were wide with shock and fright, and she was shaking her head, looking up into the bestial visage once again as it snapped viciously at Edward Hyde.

                "It can't be…" she muttered under her breath, her hands shaking slightly now.

                "_What_?" Skinner urged, touching her arm as gently as he dare in case he startled her.

                Just before she could reply, there was the sound of a shot from the entrance they had used, and the three members of the _League_ heard the yelp, before turning their heads simultaneously to see Captain Nemo holding a long-barrelled weapon, a handful of his sailors behind him.

                Mina made to protest to the shooting of the animal – no it wasn't an animal – before she noticed the projectile. It was a dart… a tranquilliser.

                "Ah, so my suspicions _were_ correct," Nemo announced as he waved his men forward.

                The beast was still conscious, but its struggles lessened quickly, and with a low grumble, it slumped, eyes half-lidded in its groggy state. The limbs loosened against Hyde's grip, and he ventured to let go, pushing Mina and Skinner aside as it crumpled to the floor, panting heavily.

                Nemo's men carried a net with them. Mina looked to the Captain. "How did you know what it was?"

                "Many people were in a panic after catching sight of a 'monster', Mrs. Harker. I put two and two together, and rushed back to my Nautilus for the correct equipment. Whoever this is, we must find out, and try to deal with the situation." He showed no pride in his work, but Mina knew it was there, buried deep under the surface along with everything else.

                Mina shook her head again, auburn locks tumbling around her flawless face as she watched the crewmen ensnare the creature. "We need not wait to find out just who this is, Captain."

                She felt the waves of confusion coming off of her invisible companion as he inquired, "And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean? Wolf man give you his ID, did he?"

                She glared, and she heard him step back. "No, Mr. Skinner. I saw his attire… what remains of it." She waved a hand loosely, but snatched it back to her side when she noticed it still trembled slightly, shamefully.

                Mina had recognised the somewhat tattered trousers, and the almost dislodged braces hanging from the waist of the clothing. That on top of everything else had brought the situation into clarity… terrifying clarity.

                "Mrs. Harker?" Nemo persisted, noticing her eyes as they stayed firmly fixed on the drugged animal as it was secured.

                "Gentlemen," she began quietly, still staring, before she raised her eyes to take in their faces, "I believe we have located Agent Sawyer."

* * *

                "You can't be serious," Skinner said once again, standing with Dr. Jekyll, Captain Nemo and Mina Harker outside the Nautilus. He had reclaimed his jacket from just inside the hold, and slipped it on, glad for its partial warmth. Jekyll had been given a blanket after transforming back from Hyde, but still shivered, whether from the cold or the verbal blow Mina had dealt them, Skinner did not know.

                "For the last time, Skinner," Mina hissed, and her eyes met his form – what little of it she could see – quickly, a hidden danger in her gaze, "I am _very_ serious. It all makes sense. From his lethargic state, the healing we had put down to a freak of nature, to his disappearance. He left his jacket and guns on the tower, and must have leapt the distance to that rooftop." She pointed with a feminine finger, and Skinner measured the distance loosely with his eyes.

                "Are you kidding? That's a good thirty foot gap!"

                "You underestimate werewolves, Skinner, and with our experience in combating them, I would have expected more of you." She was chiding him again, and he was starting to get a little sick of it. It was late, he was tired, and he was in no mood for any of this.

                "But he didn't get bitten," came the chattered voice of Jekyll as he put in his opinion. Nemo was stoically silent and pensive as always.

                "He's got a point there," Skinner agreed.

                But as usual, Mina had an answer for everything; "He must have been scratched somehow. Beauvais and his men may have wounded him without Sawyer knowing… he could have thought the wound was… perhaps a piece of glass. We overlooked it… why shouldn't he?"

                There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and as one, the _League_ turned to take in this potential threat. Mina tensed visibly, and Nemo's fingers clasped around the hilt of his sword. Jekyll and Skinner prepared to run into the Nautilus.

                However, when the identity of the figure became clear, although still slightly concealed, Skinner knew that for once, his eyes were wider than Henry Jekyll's. Skinner's jaw dropped, and he heard the light gasp from Mina, saw the way Nemo hesitated… he never hesitated.

                There was a chuckle, and the form shook their head at the sight of them, his voice cutting through the night with clear, accentuated tones.

                "I told you Africa would never allow me to die."


	4. Like Father

**Author's Note: **Okay… so the title kind of sucks. When you've read the whole chapter, you'll know why I said that. It doesn't quite fit, but… *shrug*… I'm ill. Cut me a break, lol. Also, I'm going away for a couple of days to London. I won't be back until Sunday evening or Monday I'm afraid, so don't expect an update before then, cuz sadly it ain't gonna happen. Don't give me puppy-dog eyes… please… stop it… and to make it worse, I don't think this one will be as long as the last one… sorry.

**Sethoz: **Ack! Not the chipmunks! Glad you thought that chapter was cool. I had a lot of fun writing that, Bwahaha! And as for Allan… ah yes… now the only character I need to resurrect is Dorian… and I doubt that will be happening.

**nobleblue: **As far as I know… no, there is no cure. As Anise said in _'Silver Bullet'_: once a werewolf, always a werewolf. Now, now… don't be sad… it can't be all that terrible.

**RogueSparrow: **You've been watching 'Underworld' haven't you? *hands you a glass of water*

**Rayne: **I'm glad you liked it. The fight, though abrupt and only a foreshadow of what is to come *cough*, was quite fun to work out. Couldn't have anyone getting killed now, could I? Quatermain's back? *looks at notes* Oh yes… so he is.

**Raven Silvers: **Don't worry about the review in the other account thing. I was only kidding. Yes, yes, everyone's favourite great white hunter is back. I scared you? Bwahaha! Excellent! Only gonna get worse, my friend. 

**LotRseer3350: **Ah, clever Seer. Knew it was coming, did you? Muahahaha! 

**Graymoon74: **Curses… reread your review and I had a mouthful of tea… **_not_** a smart thing to do! Poopy bag?! Oh dear, Graymoon. Silly you. D'oh! Nearly sprayed my beverage everywhere, and that would have been most unfortunate *cheers cuz she just read your new chapter*. Good ol' Mina, 'eh? What would we do without her? Hmmm… all of this wouldn't be happening for one. Ah yes, Quatermain… couldn't resist. Father figure indeed. He'll have a hell of a time dealing with all that's happened though I should imagine. *buys Allan a ticket to Africa, just in case*

**Leigh S. Durron: **Thanks! I like using a lot of emotion in my work, because, as humans, we never stop feeling, do we? 

**MJ: **Hi! Wondered where you'd popped off to! Haven't seen you in **_ages_**! But I'm sure you've been busy, so I'll let you off… this time. You love me? Wow… flattery goes a long way with me. Lol.

**angelic katty: ***hands you a glass of water as well* You okay now? Calmed down enough to read this new instalment? Poor Tom? Who knows? He may grow to like his new lycanthropy… yeah, I know… didn't convince myself either.

**Niani: **Welcome to the story. Thanks for your kind words. Hope you enjoy this new part too.

* * *

                Stepping out of the gloom of the shadows, Allan Quatermain chuckled dryly at the astounded faces of his previous companions, the remaining members of the _League_. He couldn't stop his grin, and he removed his hat as he emerged into the wan light of the Paris docks, stopping some six feet from Mina Harker, Captain Nemo, Rodney Skinner, and Henry Jekyll, all of whom he had never seen so shocked.

                It was Mina Harker who spoke first, much to Allan's surprise. The way she carried herself once she regained her composure spoke of the mantle of leadership, and he raised a brow as she said, "Mr. Q… you… but you died." She was smiling only slightly, as though this amused her and perhaps she thought she might have been dreaming.

                "Yes, Mrs. Harker, I _did_ die," Allan responded dryly, but still with a note of humour to his thick accent, "but, not for long. That witch doctor's blessings were stronger than I could have thought."

                "What do you mean? How on Earth did you come back from the dead? Did someone spike my drink without telling me?" Skinner's coat turned in all directions as he rambled off his questions, and Allan laughed at the sight.

                "I was resurrected," Allan revealed, turning his wide-brimmed hat in his hands, "by a witch doctor. That blessing… well, let's just say I'm glad I saved that particular village, or I wouldn't be standing before you now."

                Jekyll swallowed visibly, his face drawn with clear concern. His dark eyes turned to Nemo and Mina, and then on Allan. He said nothing though, whereas Quatermain had thought he was going to welcome him. Something was bothering the doctor… as usual.

                Mina lowered her gaze, before glancing over her shoulder at the Nautilus behind them. Her head turned back to Allan, her blue eyes piercing and bright in the gloom. "We have a problem."

                Allan had noted, on his approach, that the _League_ had been in conversation before he'd announced his presence. Though his senses were still as keen as they had been before his death, he had been unable to make out any of their words. His eyes picked out the faces of the group, seeing the concern in their expressions, save for Skinner. The man was without his greasepaint, and therefore, an enigma when it came to emotions.

                Then it struck him… he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. One of their number was missing. He turned his gaze solely upon Mina, and simply said, "Sawyer."

                She nodded, somewhat gravely.

                _Did he die? No… he's young, but he's not careless. He can take care of himself… perhaps he is only injured_, Allan thought, and allowed himself to be led into the belly of the Nautilus. Mina Harker – or anyone else for that matter – did not divulge any details on the situation. They simply walked, a train of silence and pensive considerations, faces grave and expressions foreboding to say the least. It did nothing to lift Allan's suddenly dampened spirits.

                It was when they were coming upon the ice room, about three corridors away from it in fact, that the racket became evident, reaching Allan's ears and causing him to furrow his already lined brow. His eyes floated to the faces of his fellows, but none betrayed the situation. It sounded like… he tilted his head slightly… was that roaring? No… not roaring… as they got closer, he realised it sounded like growling, deep and menacing, and _very _loud.

                Mina Harker led the way into the room, lifting her coat over the threshold so she would not stumble on the leather, and moved to one side to allow her companions entry. Nemo was next, and he strode to the other side of the doorway. Jekyll and Skinner followed, with Allan bringing up the rear. He reached a foot over the slight step, and froze halfway through the door as his eyes met the origin of the disturbance.

                _What on Earth is that thing?_ What his eyes saw did nothing to stir his brain into recollection. He had never seen anything like it in his life. It was huge, not far off the height of Mr. Hyde when released from Jekyll's internal prison. Thick, dark – almost black – hair covered its entire body, coarse yet carrying a soft shine in the light. Great, menacing claws – more like talons – protruded from the hands and feet, like paws rather than anything else. It was muscular, strong and threatening. Silvery slits of eyes regarded the _League_ and Allan, and a bellow of a growl was the response they gained from it. Its maw opened wide, and sharp fangs of teeth were revealed as the jowls drew back in a snarl, its tall ears flattening against its skull… an instinctual animal warning, Allan knew. It was telling them to keep back.

                Not that it would have mattered… the beast was well and truly contained. Thick chains were locked – much like in the original incident with Hyde – around its ankles, wrists, and there was even something very similar to a collar about its large neck. It fought futilely against the restraints, and roared again, jaws opening wide, and then snapping shut ferociously. Several of Nemo's men stood at a safe distance with wicked looking weapons, not too dissimilar to spears.

                Mina Harker came up beside Allan, eyes never leaving the creature.

                The old adventurer came to the only conclusion available to him, and he waved a hand loosely in the direction of the monstrous beast. "So you're telling me that this thing did something to Sawyer?"

                The blue eyes left the form of the creature, and met Allan's gaze. Rather coolly, she said, "No."

                Allan's brow furrowed deeper, if such a thing was possible. He looked to the chained animal as it started up in its struggles again, and then to Mina again.

                She persisted, arching an eyebrow, "That 'thing' _is_ Sawyer."

                Allan visibly reeled from the revelation, and his looked disbelievingly to the thrashing beast, as it snapped at a crewman. The sailor jumped back. How could that be Sawyer… young Tom Sawyer, who had been so normal and 'innocent' when Allan had last seen him? It was impossible… what _was_ this thing anyway? It certainly wasn't anything like what he had ever seen in his hunting days.

                Allan looked to the others. Skinner's hands were in his pockets; that much was obvious from the bulge in the leather, and the way his sleeves hovered at odd angles. Jekyll was shivering, and eyeing both Allan and the monster alternatively, and he frowned. Nemo however, was looking to the adventurer, and he nodded once to confirm what Mina had said to him.

                "How…" was all he could manage, looking to the huge beast again as it grumbled low in its throat, silvery eyes fixed on him now. It bared its teeth again.

                "Not long ago, we encountered many of these creatures. Werewolves. Agent Sawyer was captured, and we discovered a man called Charles Evans intended to infiltrate the American government, and learn all their secrets in turning Sawyer into one of his team. We arrived before Tom's 'siring' could take place… however, he must have been wounded by one of the creatures… otherwise this wouldn't be happening."

                Allan completely ignored the fact that Mina Harker had called Sawyer by his first name. It mattered very little to him at that moment. "You're telling me that _this_ is a werewolf?" He paused. "Aren't they just a myth?"

                "As with vampires, you mean?" The blue eyes stared.

                Allan hesitated, and then nodded. "Point taken." He looked to the creature again. "And… Sawyer… is a werewolf now?"

                "So it would seem." Skinner's voice cut through the chill of the ice room, standing near to a hook filled with fish tied together in a bundle. "Lucky Mina realised before she stabbed him though."

                Mina Harker chose to relay the tale to him, taking time to embellish on every detail lest she miss something important. Allan listened, his eyes never leaving the form of the werewolf chained before him. Even if he had only – until today – thought them to be a myth, he would never have expected them to be so… huge.

                "I suspect that, at least to our knowledge, since this is his first transformation, he is unable to change back, confused by what is happening to him… hence the volatile behaviour."

                Allan looked to Mina as she concluded her tale. "I thought that these things only came out on the full moon. I don't know whether you noticed the _crescent_ moon outside tonight?" He pointed skyward… which was in fact the ceiling.

                Mina raised a brow again. "Yes, Mr. Quatermain, I did. Not all myth and legend is accurate, as I'm sure you're aware. Only certain sub-species are capable of transformation on the full moon alone… otherwise, it is possible to become such a beast whenever one wishes." 

                "So what do you plan to do?" Allan eyed her inquisitively.

                "All we can do is wait… he could change back any minute… or it could take him hours to realise what he's become, and just how to revert to his human form," Mina replied, linking her hands in front of her loosely.

                Allan scoffed quietly. How could they just leave Sawyer to try and decipher this on his own? Clearly, the poor boy – even in this shape – was confused and overwhelmed. He had no idea what he was doing, and that he wasn't being threatened. No doubt all he knew at this point was his bestial urges and instincts, and right now that probably consisted of 'keep the threat at bay, and escape by any means necessary'.

                So it was that Allan Quatermain stepped towards the beast, despite the whimper from Henry Jekyll, who no doubt wasn't fond of watching what may happen. But the doctor did not retreat, simply watched as Allan stood not too far from the werewolf, and said clearly and loudly, "Agent Sawyer."

                There was a glint of recognition in the gleaming eyes, before it bellowed anew, and snapped its feral jaws at the hunter, the teeth closing mere inches from the man's face before the collar snapped the head back. It did nothing to improve its temper, and it thrashed again, snarling fiercely in a rage.

                "Sawyer… listen to me… concentrate on my voice, boy," Allan began again, and it was with no lack of intensity that he did so. He stood quite firmly before the creature, and stared fixatedly at it, never wavering. There was a confidence and sincerity in his tone. The beast seemed to notice, and turned its large head to Allan, tilting it to one side as a confused dog may when being asked to do something it did not comprehend. It still growled, but with less conviction than before. "That's it…" Allan eased, letting his compassion show now, "you know me. Don't you? You know all of us… don't let this new part of you take over. You can control it… you just have to concentrate."

                The werewolf seemed to hunch down slightly, and one of the ears pricked with a twitch, as if it were truly listening and paying attention. The teeth were no longer bared in a threat, but the growl had not completely subsided as of yet.

                "Sawyer…" Allan said to it again, in a simple manner, trying to jog some sort of recollection in the bestial mind of the creature before him.

                The growls ceased. The eyes blinked.

                "Tom Sawyer…"

                A small sound from the throat of the animal made Allan narrow his eyes. It sounded like a low pine, longing and guilty. 

                Allan and the others watched, transfixed, as the creature shook its head, and then began to pant. It pined again, louder, and opened its mouth and let out a sorrowful note, one that was painful to listen to. There was a crack, a heart wrenching sound, as the bone and cartilage in one of the knees broke, altering and changing from the reversed hind quarters of an animal, to that of a human. The other soon followed with the same awful noise, and the beast dropped to all fours, the gigantic forelimbs touching down with a thud, as a snarl – albeit a pained one – rumbled forth from its throat. Its eyes closed, and it gave an almighty shudder, as if frightened or cold. 

                Allan's eyes widened as the black, coarse hair started to recede, slowly at first, before shrinking back and drawing into the skin itself. He grimaced at the sight. The limbs contracted as one, and the snapping of bones was heard. Allan noticed the shrinking of the ribcage, and reasoned that was the origin of the snapping. Sawyer's body was reshaping, and Allan imagined that experiencing it must have been worse than witnessing it alone. But still he stood, stoically and firmly before the transforming figure.

                The face and muzzle of the werewolf began to reshape and form itself back into the features of a human being, though with the head bowed, Allan could not see the expression on Sawyer's face. He knew it must have been pained though… the transformation – like Jekyll into Hyde and vice versa – looked excruciating.

                It wasn't long until the head was perfectly recognisable as human once again, and the black started to fade from the tousled locks of hair, blonde bleeding through from the roots and taking precedence. A pained gasp was heard, before the very last signs of the werewolf vanished… and Tom Sawyer was back.            

                It seemed like an eternity, as silence descended on the room, save for Sawyer's panting, and glances were exchanged. The young American knelt, hands on the ground, trembling in the same spot were the werewolf had collapsed not long ago. The manacles fell from his wrists with a light clang, and he ducked his head right down, letting the collar fall useless to the grating underneath him. The sound echoed, and reverberated off the walls. 

                "Sawyer…" Allan began again, quietly and more soothing this time, to try and stir the young man from his undoubtedly shocked state.

                The head rose, and narrowed green eyes looked up at him, the face of the American registering too many emotions to catalogue. Shock, pain, fear and surprise all fought for priority, and the result was an unreadable expression. When he spoke, his voice was husky and forced; "Quatermain…?"

                Allan moved forward, closing up to the American. He nodded. "That's right. It's Allan Quatermain."

                "How… but…" Sawyer trembled again, and closed his eyes, sitting back slightly on his haunches, but leaving his hands on the floor for balance. There was another shudder, and Allan crouched down in front of his young friend… the man who had avenged his death.

                The green eyes opened once again, and Allan saw the tears in them as the two locked gazes. Allan smiled at Sawyer, and touched a hand to his head in a fatherly fashion, gentle and welcoming.

                Sawyer's emotions overwhelmed him then, and the tears broke through his defences. He sobbed, and Allan took him in his arms, holding him as he shook with fright and shock.

                "It's all right, boy… I'll help you through this…"

                Allan lost all track of time as he embraced the trembling form of Sawyer, and he wasn't even aware that everyone else had left to let them have their moment together in peace. Though Allan far from understood what had happened, he wasn't going to let Sawyer be consumed by confusion, guilt or fear… he needed guidance, and that was what the old hunter planned to provide, by any means necessary.

* * *

**A/N2: **All right then… that was chapter 4. You see what I mean about the title? Yeah well… never mind, 'eh? Hope you liked this one, and remember you've got a potential three or four day wait for chapter 5… *dodges projectiles* sorry about that! I've just noticed… Tom has cried in all three of my full-lengths… odd…


	5. Like Son

**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long. I was buzzed after I came back from London, and well… my sister was down, and I didn't want to ignore her and sit here writing all the time, though I did do a little by hand in bed… god, I need a laptop! Call me greedy… now sitting here listening to Pippin's song from LOTR: ROTK, cuz I love that film, that character and that song *big grin* LXG! Need to concentrate! As a special treat, I'm going to go nuts with my shout outs;

**Sethoz: **I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your overly kind words. I am a lucky so and so, aren't I? *beams* Bwahaha! AH! FURBIES! *screams and hides*

**Capt. Cow: **Becky? She'll be in my next story, don't worry. I have a lot of characters to keep you intrigued (hopefully) for this one though. As for the cure… I think you might be disappointed.

**drowchild: **Allan can handle just about anything I should imagine… he _did_ come back from the dead after all, lol. But yes, I couldn't resist putting him in there.

**life sucks: **Just make sure I'm not distracting you from your work… I'd hate to be responsible for slacking, cuz I know what a bad habit that can be to fall into… trust me, I was such a lazy slacker at school. Lol.

**angelic katty: **Short? Sowwy! I'll try not to do it like that again, leave you alone with a short one. If I go away again, which shouldn't happen anytime soon, I promise to leave you with something more substantial.

**Emily M. Hanson: **Quatermain was and is a good character. Unfortunately Connery drove LXG's director clean out of Hollywood… apparently. A little big-headed of him, not to mention cruel and stupid, but I suspect we'll get another one regardless. And Quatermain is not Connery :D Two different entities…

**RogueSparrow: **I can't seem to help making Tom cry… it's just an irresistible lure to show his vulnerable side. Plus, he _did_ seem to cry quite a lot as a child… everyone has a soft side, and I just enjoy reminding everyone of Tom's. Thank you for the comment about the emotion… I try.

**Raven: ***pats your Tom plushie on the head, then gives her own a cuddle* Poor little guy… I should cut him some slack… *thinks for a moment* Nah! *cuddles plushie again* Damn cute though. Ah yes, the chapter title… this one might not apply quite as well, but it follows nicely, and that's my lame excuse. Lol! And thank you!

**LotRseer3350: **I did enjoy my break, thank you! And I'm glad I decided not to leave you with a cliffy. If I managed a cliffy at the end of every chapter, I'd run out of them fast. 

**Rayne: **Ah yes… wow, good instinct as to what this chapter would be about. Hehe. Have you been looking at my chapter plan? *covers chapter plan with hands* Perhaps he and Mina _will_ connect more… unfortunately you'll have to wait and see.

**Graymoon74: **I figured Quatermain, from watching the film, does look on Tom as a kind of son, so every father needs to comfort his children, right? That's my stupid explanation anyway… plus I'm a bit of a softie at heart, and tender moments like that, especially if played well, always get me, you know? Ah yes… could you imagine both of them transforming at once? Lmao! 

**M J Rosemary: **I did miss you very much so! Wondered where my buddy, MJ had gone! I _did_ enjoy Underworld as a matter of fact, and I'm glad you enjoyed my description of the transformation. And you have yet to see the Tom into wolf one as well. That will have my undivided attention as well, hehe. And 'what's his name' is Michael. Lol. Everybody loves Allan!

**Caraphoenix: **Welcome to the story! And romance? Hmm… if you've read the trailer, you might be able to make up your own answer to that question. Bwahaha!

**Hellcat: **Puppy-dog eyes a pun? Hope so, cuz I laughed. Yeah, but thanks! Welcome! And I hope you enjoy this new instalment… *looks up the page* Wow… that's a lot of shout outs.

* * *

                Knocking lightly on the door with a certain sense of trepidation, Skinner glanced up and down the corridor. A few of Nemo's men passed in either direction, quietly going about their tasks and taking barely any notice of Skinner at all. They could see him; he had clothed and painted his face… but they barely acknowledged him. He returned the 'favour', and knocked again.

                "Sawyer?" he called gently, leaning closer to the frame so his voice would carry better.

                There was a muffled shout of a response from inside that he only just heard; "Go away."

                Skinner frowned deeply. The American had not come out of his room since breaking down on the mysteriously returned Quatermain… not that the invisible man could blame him. It must have been quite a shock to his system to undergo such a dramatic and unexpected change.

                "I was just checking you were all right. You know where to find us when you're ready to come out." Knowing he wouldn't get a response anyway, Skinner walked away without waiting for one. He just wished – and hoped – Sawyer would come out of his room soon.

* * *

                With his head bowed against his drawn-up knees, arms hugged around his shins, Tom heard Skinner walk away… _actually_ heard it. It was frightening, and he had already been physically ill twice since returning to his cabin. It was too sudden and too unwelcome on top of that. And there was only one conclusion he could come to that would explain all of it.

                Jacques Beauvais. He must have scratched Tom… it wasn't glass in his arm, though he _had_ pulled a shard out. Tom brought his aching head up for a moment; eyes brimmed with confused and angry tears briefly before he choked them back.

                Sure, he had always felt a little plain in the presence of the others after the first mission, but he never would have asked for this. He was a werewolf… and to make it worse, he hadn't been able to stop himself from almost killing Mina. He had seen it all, felt it all, but had been powerless. He had been trapped inside with no way of stopping the beast from trying to fulfil its urges… which seemed to consist of killing and feeding.

                Tom let his head drop back down again, his thoughts turning to Allan Quatermain… he was alive… _truly_ alive. At first, Tom had thought he'd been seeing things; dreaming or delirious from the transformation. But it was real. Quatermain had come back from the dead; he was really on the Nautilus; and he had really managed to coax Tom into transforming from the wolf to himself again.

                And it had hurt… god it had hurt.

                The breaking of bones as they changed shape, the reforming of his entire body… it had hurt more on the tower though. He remembered he had tried to scream, but had choked on the sound.

                He was so angry and upset about all of it. He didn't know what to do. What was the _League_ going to do? They seemed concerned – from what little he had seen of them since the ice room – but Tom knew he was dangerous. If he couldn't keep the beast inside, he could very well kill someone, and that was almost more than he could bear.

* * *

                Mina looked up only briefly when the doors to the library opened and Skinner walked in, looking rather glum indeed. She arched an eyebrow, and glanced back to the others from her place by the bookshelves, where she ran a feminine finger over the vast spines of the volumes. Her eyes met with Allan Quatermain's for a moment, before she felt the need to turn her head to her search.

                After a moment, she hesitated, and pulled a large book from its confinement, taking it over to the large round table where the others sat over steaming cups of brown tea. She settled it down without a sound, and seated herself next to Henry Jekyll and Captain Nemo. They glanced to her curiously, even as Skinner took an unoccupied chair beside Quatermain, who sat to the right of Nemo. All the seats were filled, and Skinner set about making his cup equally as full, taking a sip from it tentatively at once.

                It wasn't long until Mina glanced up from the pages and noted their undivided attention was upon her. She took a moment to sip her tea, welcoming its soothing warmth, and then sighed. However, she did not respond. Her icy gaze turned back on the yellowing pages of the volume, and she skimmed through another few sheets.

                Skinner glanced to his companions briefly, and then said, "So what are we waiting in painful silence for anyway?"

                Mina did not look up as she responded, "Perhaps you would like to tell us if you made any progress?"

                "None whatsoever. He told me to 'go away'… and I did. Figured he wouldn't want me bugging him."

                Mina nodded slowly, and rested her hand on the page she had stopped at, a grim smile touching her lips before she looked up from the fading text. "We need to come to a decision regarding this problem."

                Allan Quatermain's brow shot up, and he tilted his head as he said, "What problem?"

                "Perhaps you didn't notice the werewolf, Mr. Q," she replied aloofly. She eyed him reproachfully for a moment, and then turned her weary head to gaze down on the detailed sketch of a beast on the page before her.

                "That _werewolf_ was Sawyer," Quatermain challenged in a low tone, almost protectively. "And still is."

                Mina rubbed her temple, and sat back in her chair, noticing the way Jekyll gulped, though he was not drinking at the time. He shrank from her a little, only a fraction of an inch, but a noticeable amount to her nonetheless. "Yes… and we need to address the problem of his _being_ a werewolf."

                "What else _can_ we do other than offer him support and help him through the change?" Quatermain said to her from his seat almost opposite, his dark eyes locking with her light ones and never wavering. He was challenging her… she knew it, he knew it… and so did the rest of the people present. They stayed silent, and just watched.

                Mina sat forward in her chair again, giving the drawing another momentary glance before looking to the resurrected hunter. "I know you are attached to Agent Sawyer, but when he was in his werewolf state, he almost killed Skinner and myself… if Hyde had not arrived, I don't know if I would have been able to hold him off." She paused, and stared. "He was strong, he was confused… he was brutal."

                Quatermain furrowed his brow. "He wasn't in control."

                "Precisely my point," Mina snapped, and everyone else in the room was forgotten. "Imagine his transformation in a crowd of people… even on the decks of this very ship. He would tear his way through half of the occupants before we would be able to stop him. And if he didn't _kill_ his victims – whether intended or not – then they would turn also, and our problem would only escalate!"

                Quatermain stood from his chair, and Skinner flinched slightly, nearly dropping his cup. "Who decided to put _you_ in charge after I died? It is not your decision… how can you talk about this 'problem' so nonchalantly when it is Sawyer's very life you are _dealing_ with?" His volume rose, and Mina physically did so as well, standing from her chair in retaliation.

                "You don't understand," Mina retorted hotly, "because you were not here when we encountered these creatures before. They are not to be underestimated. I have every intention of making Sawyer as comfortable with his condition as possible, as you well _know_ I would! But that does not change the fact that he is dangerous!"

                "He's only a boy, and he can be contained."

                "We can't keep him on this vessel for the rest of his life, Quatermain," Mina growled, "and trust me… it is now going to be a _very_ long life…"

                Quatermain stared at her for a while, before glancing to the others. "So what do you plan to do with him then? Lock him up and throw away the key?" He received no response. "How can you call that fair? If I understand correctly from what Jekyll and Nemo were telling me before, he didn't ask for this. How can you even comprehend-"

                "You make it sound as though we have a choice, Mr. Quatermain." Nemo did not look up from his cup as he spoke, and he sipped for a moment, appearing very pensive indeed, dark eyes clouded with consideration.

                "We _do_ have a choice, dammit," the Scotsman retorted. "He just needs time to learn how to control the beast… any animal can be tamed."

                "This is not a tiger in the circus, this is a-"

                "A werewolf, I know." Quatermain stared at Mina once again, and she had the distinct impression he had enjoyed cutting her off. "But he just needs to _learn_… one of you must be able to teach him. Meditation perhaps…"

                Mina turned her gaze upon Jekyll, who snapped his pocket watch shut as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't. The two regarded one another… they knew their demons well, and had long since mastered them… although Hyde still pestered the doctor from time to time, and the man had almost given in to the urges more than once… but so had Mina with her vampiric instincts. Her blue eyes found Quatermain once again, and she said quietly, "What if it cannot be done?"

                "We won't give up on him that easily, Mrs. Harker," the hunter replied, and sighed, sitting back down. "He would do the same for us."

                She nodded, and followed suit, reclaiming her chair and perusing the page, before she started to divulge the information within to Quatermain, as she had with the others previously when dealing with Evans and his men.

                Mina just hoped Quatermain was right.

* * *

                Doctor Henry Jekyll knocked lightly on Sawyer's door, and waited patiently for an answer of any kind, feeling the beginnings of apprehension rise up in him like a fever. He cleared his throat, and knocked again. Perhaps Agent Sawyer was asleep…

                "Go away," came the muffled and rather lazy shout from inside. Henry frowned, and remembered what Mina had told him about not giving up. She had insisted he be persistent, and not give in to Sawyer's attempts to shut everyone out.

                So it was that he tried the handle on the door. It clicked open, and he peered his head round, finding the room dark and squinting into the shadows. He saw a huddled form on the bed that was obviously Sawyer, and he said, "I'm coming in… I need to talk with you." To his surprise, the trembling from his voice was gone. He took one step into the room, and then another. Sawyer made no move to stop him.

                But in one flash of movement, the door was slammed closed, and Henry found himself pinned to the wall. He gasped, and looked into the angry eyes of Sawyer, veiled in shadow, the one who had thrown him back and gripped him tightly.  Jekyll's eyes widened as a bestial growl rumbled from his friend.

                "Sawyer!"

                Henry and the clearly out of control Sawyer both turned their heads instantly to the looming figure in the doorway. It was Quatermain.

                "Put him down…"

                There was a shudder through Tom Sawyer's arms that even Henry felt, and he swallowed dryly, moments before the American recoiled, visibly terrified of himself. Henry gasped, and worked his way toward the door. He quickly decided that this was not a good moment to try and help… he would wait until later.

* * *

                Tom reeled back from Jekyll, eyes wide at what he had just done without even realising it. As the doctor fled as calmly as he could manage from the room, Tom felt his legs give out on him, and he grabbed the bed behind him for stability, managing to avoid collapsing completely to the floor. He panted heavily, and glanced at Allan Quatermain in the doorway. The hunter reached over to the desk, and flicked on the lamp.

                Tom winced, and turned his eyes from it. His eyesight quickly adjusted… swifter than normal, and the young man frowned. He didn't want this… he didn't want any of it; the heightened senses; the swift healing… he wished it would all just go away and cease to be.

                With a sorrowful expression, he sank himself down on the bed, his back to Quatermain, and he set his hands on his knees, head bowed slightly. The lump under the covers – his coat – was forgotten… he could barely recall even putting it there. Guilt started to swim its way up to his consciousness, and he heard Quatermain approach. He didn't have the heart to tell him to leave after what he had just done – or _almost_ done – to poor Jekyll. 

                Quatermain's hand landed on Tom's shoulder, and he flinched instinctively, drawing back on the soft mattress underneath him and regarding the man in the wan light. The hunter looked almost sympathetic, and for some reason, that only served to anger the American.

                "What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, as though speaking any louder would attract unwanted attention.

                Quatermain seated himself on the end of the bed, and sighed. "Saving Dr. Jekyll, it would seem."

                Tom closed his eyes, running both his hands through his tousled blonde locks. "I couldn't stop myself."

                The other man nodded. "So I saw… and I know it's not your fault."

                "How can you say that?" Tom snapped, his head rising from its bowed position, the two men's eyes locking fiercely in the darkness. "I'm dangerous… you saw it yourself. I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to lock me up, or even kill me."

                "Listen to me," Quatermain told him sternly, and Tom felt inclined to keep his mouth shut, "I won't let them give up on you… because I wouldn't do that myself. I expect the same of you. Don't let this get to you. You have to fight the urges, and learn to control it… I know you can."

                "I can't do that," Tom retorted weakly, his head swimming with confusion. "Up on the tower… the first time-" he cut himself off, shaking his head and saying, "the _only_ time it's happened so far… I knew what was happening, and I couldn't keep it down. How can I stop what I'm doing when I'm that _thing_, if I can't even keep it from coming out?"

                Quatermain stood, and walked closer. Tom watched his approach, and frowned deeper. He felt just like he had as a child, when Aunt Polly had scolded him. "Sawyer," the older man began gently, "I know you have it in you to fight this. You can't make it go away… and you can't turn back time… but you can come to terms with the change, and use it."

                "But I don't want it." Tom bowed his head down onto his knees again as he drew them up to his chest. He draped his arms over the back of his neck, and sighed deeply and heavily.

                He felt the dip in the mattress as Quatermain sat down again, and heard him say, "Jekyll and Mrs. Harker are going to help you take control… they both have their demons." He paused, and Tom felt his hesitation as much as heard it. "And now they're going to help you with your own."

                Tom lifted his head, arms coming to rest over his knees lazily, and his eyes met the wise face of his mentor… the man he had thought dead until now. "Why did you come back? You said… before, all that time ago, you said you didn't really want to be here." Tom shrugged. "Why come back at all? If you were resurrected, why not just stay in Africa?"

                Quatermain smiled then, and chuckled lightly, sighing heavily afterwards with a longing look in his eye as he regarded the American he had taken on as his student. "I wanted to check up on all of you… see what I had missed." He cocked his head. "Apparently, it was quite a lot."

                Tom smiled then too, but it was devoid of humour. He knew the smile to be crooked, and it only lasted a moment as his head thudded back against the headboard, and he winced at a pain deep in his stomach, rising up in him. "Oh god…" He lurched forward, closing his eyes, and holding a hand across his front as the sensation swelled. He recognised it, and hissed through clenched teeth. Despite his best efforts to stop it, a rumble sounded in his throat. His other hand clutched the blankets of his bed so tightly he thought he would tear them apart.

                "Easy," Quatermain soothed, rising and approaching cautiously, laying a hand on the bed and bowing his head down to look Tom in the face. "Take it easy… don't let it take over."

                Tom took deep, panting breaths and tried to fight, feeling it resist and try to surge upwards like a great powerful wave. 

                _I won't let it happen_, he thought resolutely, setting his jaw in determination, _I won't let it win. Not this time. I won't hurt anyone._

                The sensation in his stomach started to alter, and he felt the urge to vomit again, though he pushed it aside and felt it desist entirely. He groaned, and grimaced, trying to push the change down in him again. He had to tell himself he was in control, that he was in charge of what happened to his body, no matter what the form.

                And then, as suddenly as it had started, the sensation failed altogether and died, falling away from him as if it had never truly been. His eyes shot open, and he let out a gasping breath as if rising from water he had been held under for a long time. Tom shuddered, and turned his head swiftly to the smiling face of Allan Quatermain.

                "Well done, boy." Quatermain nodded with a dry laugh. "Well done."

* * *

**A/N2: **And there you have it! Chapter 5 at last! *grovels* I am SO **_SO_** sorry that took as long as it did. It will _not_ happen again! I promise! Look forward (hopefully) to the next update in a couple of days at the latest.


	6. Fight The Urge

**Author's Note: **Told you it wouldn't take me long! Didn't I? Yay! *throws confetti all around, and then remembers the tone of her story, and vacuums it all up at once* Ahem… not the time for confetti really. Hope you like this one… Oh yeah! Check out my site for the cover art supplied by a fellow author! P.s. Thanks to 'Archaon' for the name… he knows what I mean…

**angelic katty: **As always…

**Raven Silver: **You and your praise! You're going to give me a fat head! 

**Graymoon74: ***blushes* You and your compliments as well. You and Raven just spoil me. I kinda used the Mina/Quatermain from the first comic… they were always bickering. 

**drowchild: **Tom is going to get more and more scary… as you will see. But he'll still look damn good! Ahem… did I say that out loud?

**Sethoz: ***watches you strangle* Who will help Tom if you kill them all? Other than Mina of course, who can't suffocate. You know me and tension…

**Emily M. Hanson: **Will do.

**Rayne: **Ah yes… like father, like son… I'm going to stop rambling one day… I swear! *puts a blanket over her chapter plan*

**Andromeda Trance-endent: **Welcome, and I thank you kindly for your high praise. Please don't burn your writing… Glad you enjoy my work, and I hope you'll stick around to find out what happens! 

**A. L. Nowicki: **Ack! All the plushies are getting upset! *hands out plushie-sized Kleenex* 

**LotRseer3350: **Well done for getting that story up at last! It's cool! 

* * *

                Captain Nemo stood at the helm of the Nautilus when Mina Harker and Henry Jekyll stepped onto the bridge, both quiet and pensive. He could see on their faces that they – like everyone – were having trouble adjusting to the fact that their American associate was not how they had always known him anymore. Nemo sighed delicately, and inclined his head as an inquiry.

                "I have heard of a woman in Scotland who may be able to help," Jekyll managed to fumble, taking his pocket watch from its concealment and fiddling constantly with the chain and shutter. "I was going to go to her when I first created Hyde… but… I never did." He hung his head slightly as if ashamed.

                "From what Dr. Jekyll told me of the woman, she is a kind of… she sees herself as a medium between our world and that of the animal. She might be able to help Agent Sawyer with his 'problem'." Mrs. Harker raised a brow. "I don't think we have a choice. Quatermain told me that Agent Sawyer almost lost control in his cabin again… after attacking Jekyll that is."

                "He didn't exactly _attack_ me," Jekyll interjected, "I just startled him is all. I don't blame him for jumping me like he did."

                "And if Quatermain hadn't been there, he may have changed, and you wouldn't have stood a chance, Doctor." Mina eyed her companion in an almost scolding manner, and the chestnut-haired man backed down visibly.

                Nemo simply watched them stand there for a moment, and then nodded. "Then we are to go to Scotland. Thank you for your help."

                Mina and Jekyll threw him acknowledging glances, and then left the room. Nemo turned to his crew and passed on the message, watching them as they milled about to fill out their duty.

* * *

                Dinner that evening was a sombre affair. No one spoke, at least not during the meal. Allan had the distinct impression that his sudden arrival on top of Sawyer's altered anatomy were the combining factors in the silence. The five sat around the long table, one chair empty should Sawyer decide to join them at the last minute. Allan had asked Nemo to send some food down to the young man's cabin, but they had not seen him out of the room all day. The hunter was the only one who had spoken to him successfully since the ice room, and as he thought about it, his fist clenched around his cup, and he had to remind himself to put it down before he broke it.

                _Why won't they even attempt to speak with him?_ Allan thought as his eyes travelled around the table, taking in the grim expressions on the faces of his companions. _He is still the same person… he just carries an abnormality along with the majority of them now. They should know how it feels to be shunned._

                Instead of musing it over in silence, denying himself the answers, Allan decided to speak his mind; "Were any of you planning on talking to the boy?"

                One by one, the _League_ turned their gaze upon the resurrected adventurer, and all looked as awkward as one another. Allan raised his eyebrows to emphasise he had asked them a question, and that he expected an answer.

                "You saw what he nearly did to Jekyll," Skinner mumbled, removing his trilby and setting it lazily down on the table next to his cup. He looked to Allan through his pince-nez, and furrowed his brow. "What if you're not there next time he feels a bit jumpy, 'eh? What happens if he loses control?"

                "Skinner," Allan growled, very tempted to tell the man to shut up, before reminding himself that at least the thief had chosen to reply, "the only way he's going to learn control is to go through situations that would cause the monster inside to surge up. Mrs. Harker has learned to stem her urges by being around her lure… Sawyer must do the same. He won't make any progress if he is ignored."

                "I'm not ignorin' the kid," Skinner cut in, seemingly feeling as though he had been insulted, if only slightly. "I like the American… a lot. It's just, I also happen to like my limbs where they are, thank you very much. I want to help him as much as anyone, but he needs a little time, that's all."

                Allan and Skinner locked gazes tensely over the table, before simultaneously, they both looked to the liquid in their cups. Allan wanted to apologise for accusing Skinner, but felt no need after a moment's consideration. He had simply voiced his mind, and Skinner had stated his case… that was all. Apologies were not called for.

                "How long until we reach Scotland?" Mina Harker asked quietly as she lifted her cup to drink. Allan had almost forgotten their destination, and there was a light feeling of comfort at knowing they were going to one of the places he had claimed as a home over the years.

                "We will be there shortly. I informed my crew this was of the utmost importance, and they have pushed the Nautilus to her limits in order to get us there as soon as possible." Nemo nodded his head after he spoke, and sipped his tea, afterwards falling silent. 

                The rest of the _League_ followed suit, and for a long time, the only sound was that of the cups and saucers clinking.

* * *

_                Yellow eyes blinked in the darkness, the only shape discernible from the shadow and mystery all around. A growl emanated from the form, the owner of the eyes, and they lidded halfway in a silent threat as the snarl died down into nothingness. _

_                Tom pushed forward, only then realising that four limbs touched the ground instead of two… he was walking on huge paws… the wolf. He cocked his head, and sniffed the air. An odd scent travelled to him on the wind, before a blinding flash exploded out of the shadows from where he had seen the eyes, and he was forced to turn himself away suddenly to avoid damaging his oculi._

_            When he opened his eyes again, he was back in human form, clutching his Colt pistols and standing in an alleyway. He knew he was here for a reason… though he couldn't remember why… and his head ached as though he had been dealt a blow from behind. The explanation for this was lost on him as well, and he heard a slight shifting from around the corner. He brought the guns up, cocking the hammers simultaneously, and laid flat back against the brick behind him, registering his surroundings. Paris…_

_            In one swift motion, he rolled away from the wall, spreading his feet wide as his coat swirled around his ankles with the movement. His arms lowered, and the barrels of his twin pistols landed, pointing at a face._

                Tom shot up in his bed, panting and perspiring heavily. He was underneath his blankets, though they had become tangled around his feet, and as he closed his eyes to try and make sense of what he had just seen, he tried to unravel his legs, unbalancing himself in the process, and rather majorly.

                His weight shifted as he started to fall off the bed, and his feet came free of the blankets. Though the distance from the mattress to the floor was only small, somehow he twisted himself, and choked back a gasp when he realised he had landed in a predatory crouch. The realisation was enough to make him topple to his side, looking at his hands. He closed his eyes again, and rubbed his face with his palms. 

                _I need to get out of here._

* * *

                It was getting dark once again, and most of the day had passed by the time they docked at the very edges of Scotland. The moon was partially concealed behind clouds of wispy grey and white, and the occasional star peeked out from its confinement. Something howled in the distance, and an owl hooted close by as Mina Harker and the others descended the ramp. Tom Sawyer stood at the head, and looked down at them pleadingly.

                "Please, Agent Sawyer… understand," Mina began, turning back. The look in his eyes was painful to her. It was like denying him something he needed to survive. He had emerged from his cabin about an hour ago after sleep, and had asked to come along. "It is imperative that you remain here, in safety, whilst we go and ask this woman for her services. We can't risk the werewolf taking over in you again… I know you do not wish to harm anyone, and with all this open space… the animal inside may only wish to emerge to roam, if nothing else."

                The American's head drooped slightly, and her vampiric senses picked up his light sigh of defeat. "All right," he mumbled, and turned to go back inside, casting another longing glance out to his companions before vanishing into the Nautilus altogether. Mina stared after him guiltily with blue eyes, and then turned back to lead the others into the town she could just make out in the failing light.

* * *

                Skinner had removed his coat before setting out from the Nautilus, and if it was possible, Scotland was even colder than Paris. He shivered; glad no one could see his vulnerability to the cold. He had hugged his arms over his chest, and followed behind Jekyll, thumping into him when the man stopped all of a sudden. Looking around, Skinner realised they were in the town. They were being watched by the locals… save for the invisible man himself that was. How could they see him? He tried to hide his breathing, and walk where they would not be able to see his impression on the ground, succeeding for the most part. When Mina turned her icy gaze upon the not-so-subtle observers, they quickly decided they had other things to be tending to.

                One man did not waver in his watch, and he smiled at them in a friendly, welcoming manner as they approached. Mina and Allan had noticed his interest and lack of 'subtlely', and so had decided that inquiring what they needed to know of the man surely couldn't hurt. 

                "Excuse me," Allan spoke up, and the man brightened at the hunter's accent. "We were wondering if you would be able to help us."

                "Well, that all depends on what you need," the man replied in an accent equally as thick. Skinner furrowed his brow. How did the people around here _understand_ one another? 

                "We're looking for a woman," Mina cut in, wishing to cut out the small talk and pleasantries… as always. When she had something on her mind, time always seemed to be of the essence. "A woman by the name of…" She turned to Jekyll.

                The doctor cleared his throat and said, "Margaret Doohan."

                The man nodded his head. "Ah yes," he muttered, "Maggie."

                "You know her?" Nemo inquired, and the man looked to the captain in a most confused manner, as though he had never seen anyone dressed so uniquely in his life… which he probably hadn't.

                "I do," the man responded slowly. "She lives out on the rim of the town… haven't seen her in a few days though. She normally comes down mid-week to get some groceries." He shook his head. "Not this week though. You tell her Andrew says hello."

                Allan paused, before nodding. "We will. Thank you."

                The man who had called himself Andrew tipped his cap to them, and went on his way. The _League_ watched him for only a moment, and then went on their way in the direction he had pointed them to take, silent as they moved.

* * *

                Tom paced his cabin, running his hands continually through his tousled hair, until he realised what he was doing and dropped his hands to his sides. What was taking them so long? They had only been gone a little under an hour, but they should have been back by now… shouldn't they? 

                Tom was getting restless… and he knew it. He couldn't keep still. He was itching to get out and stretch his legs. Mina's words circled in his mind; _"We can't risk the werewolf taking over in you again… I know you do not wish to harm anyone, and with all this open space… the animal inside may only wish to emerge to roam, if nothing else…"_

                Tom groaned, and leaned against the door in the wan lamplight of the cabin, resting his head back against the wood, and closing his eyes. _She's right… but I just need some fresh air… that's all. I can't take this much longer, being cooped up._ He had hated it as a child, and he despised it now. It just wasn't in his nature to stay in one place for too long, despite the heartfelt advice of a friend.

                Before turning to the door, he paused, and subconsciously removed his guns and holsters, and rested them down on the desk. As he moved out of the door silently, he didn't even register what he had just done.

                Tom moved stealthily through the corridors, checking around him frequently. When a crewmember appeared suddenly, he pretended to be going to the kitchens for a drink of water or something of the like, and acted as naturally as he could muster. When they disappeared again, he changed directions, and jogged to the bridge and the stairs to the conning tower. He just needed fresh air… that was all. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

                It did not take him long to reach the staircase, and he climbed it quickly and quietly, pushing through the door to the exterior of the submarine, and taking in a lungful of the air of the night, looking out to the trees nearby. Peering over the railing confirmed what he already knew. Nemo's men were roaming about around the hatch, many of them armed, protecting the captain's pride and joy.

                Drumming his fingertips along the rail, he bit his bottom lip in thought. His head turned this way and that. Deep down, he knew he was doing, but his conscious mind seemed to be clouded over, blocked from logic. He paced to his right, and peered along the length of the Nautilus, glancing down to the ground of the makeshift dock again. Swallowing, Tom gripped the rail… and swung himself over it using only his hands for the vault.

                When he landed, he made little noise, and balanced perfectly, his knees bending, and he started walking at once, moments after setting down on the hull. He paced across it, crouching down halfway so as not to be seen. The fact that his eyesight was improved did not even startle him in the slightest at that moment. All that mattered was reaching the rear of the vessel. 

                _Don't make a sound_, was the only thing that rolled through his mind now, a steady stream of instruction that served to remind him of what would happen if they caught him sneaking around. 

                He halted when he reached the very end of the Nautilus, looking down to where he imagined the propellers were under the murky water, and narrowed his eyes. Now what? His green eyes scanned the shoreline, and a crooked smile crept onto his face. Then it dropped as soon as it had hovered for a brief second.

                _What am I doing up here?_

                Then all logic was gone again, as sudden as it had popped up, and with a deep intake of cool air, he backed up a little on the Nautilus. After a moment of hesitation and measured consideration, he ran forward… and jumped.

* * *

                Mina halted when they were drawing up to the rather secluded house at the edges of the woods, and allowed her senses to take over for a moment… there was something wrong.

                "What is it?" came Skinner's disembodied voice on the breeze, and she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the dark and small building.

                "Something is wrong… the smell here is… not what it should be." Mina paced forward slowly and with a certain amount of caution, noting the way the others hovered back a little way, but stayed with her. She approached the doorway.

                As she got even closer, the dread settled in. Something was most certainly wrong, and as she reached for the handle, her heart started to pound in her ears. She swallowed dryly, and tried to open the door, which gave with little resistance, swinging open on hinges in need of oil. Her eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, and then the smell hit her. She covered her mouth with a choked, "Oh my…"

                Allan was the next to inspect the room, and he visibly paled. Quatermain turned to Jekyll and threw him a look that said it all; 'don't look'. Skinner… they couldn't see him, but Mina heard a groaning noise, and felt something brush past her in recoiling from the door and the sight within.

                From the brief glance she had gotten before turning away, even as Nemo inspected the sight stoically as ever… she had been able to determine the poor woman would not have stood a chance against whatever had torn through her like paper. There had been barely anything left of a solid form even resembling a human being, and there had been blood everywhere… though oddly, Mina's stomach had lurched instead of yearned.

                The smell hovering was perhaps the most unsettling though… werewolves.

* * *

                Tom glanced over his shoulder as he sat, jaw gaping, in the large tree he had just managed to jump to. He breathed rapidly, trying to come to terms with what he had just accomplished, before he decided to get down. He hung from his arms for a moment after swinging down from his perch, and dropped lightly to the ground, trying to determine the distance he had jumped, and failing. He quickly turned and walked away, ignoring the chill that bit at his skin on his bare arms.

                He traversed the ground quickly, ignoring the gnawing sensation in his gut again, pushing it down with nothing more than self-control to guide him as Allan Quatermain had told him. He couldn't let it take over… even though, in a way, he already had, by letting his urges about getting off the ship come into reality. 

                Tom was only about fifty feet from the Nautilus when he collapsed to one knee, his stomach feeling like it was going to tear itself apart from within, and he gasped, retching and fighting back the urge to vomit. He succeeded by a very small margin, and struggled back to his feet, shaking and panting heavily, but pushing himself forward nevertheless. He was reaching a small and seemingly abandoned farm, its lights long dimmed and the windows broken, wood planks dilapidated and fields untended. Tom stumbled alongside the barn, and gave a cry of agony, collapsing to his knees, and clutching at the ground, tearing up great handfuls of dirt and dead grass.

                A second cry caught in his throat and he almost choked on the sound, feeling another wave of nausea rise up in him, and he clenched his teeth, closing his eyes tightly and feeling his limbs tremble with what he knew was coming… he tried to fight it, and slipped further and further from anything resembling control with each passing second.

                His left hand flexed and clenched over and over again, as though he were trying to return circulation to a strangled limb, and he looked down at it, suppressing a yell when it started to change shape slightly and darken with thick hair. 

                _No… not now… **please** not now…_

                His silent pleas did him no good as he threw himself back against the barn and bit off another cry as he doubled over, hearing a crack from inside his own body, screaming as he felt his ribs break and reform. His whole structure started to twist and expand, and it wasn't long before he was lying on the floor in excruciating pain, trying to fight futilely against what rose up in him. He clutched at his chest as each rib snapped and took on a broader shape individually, making him wish he would just pass out from the agony. There was no such luck as his back arched, and he managed to roll onto his knees, curling up and hugging his hands over his head, trying to shut everything out and concentrate on anything but what was happening.

                That was when he felt his entire body start to contort and grow, and he heard the rip as the fabric of his shirt gave way under the strain. He tried to scream again as he threw his head back, opening his eyes and finding everything partially distorted even as his head started to change shape. He clenched his fists, but had to release the pressure when he felt vicious claws push forward from the tips of his fingers. Fangs pushed through his gums, even as his shirt fell free of his torso, coarse dark fur bristling all over his back, chest and abdomen, rising like a wave up to his neck. His hair seemed to recede slightly, and black bled through from the blonde roots, swarming over the light locks and covering them with ease until all traces of his natural colour were gone. He pressed his head back down again, gasping with agony, until the sound slowly changed and became hoarse and throaty; a bestial pant, followed through with a rasping growl as his neck cracked and his muzzle finished taking shape.

                Tall ears pushed up through the hair, and pricked, twitching with every nightly sound in the area, until the shape that had been Tom Sawyer stopped writhing, and the imposing black head rose, blinking its silvery liquid eyes with a feral snarl, sniffing the air. The meaty, sinewy forelimbs pounded into the dried ground outside the barn, until the powerful back legs pushed the mighty frame from the grass where he had been cowering. 

                Turning his head this way and that, the werewolf that was Tom Sawyer curled back its lip in a snarl; catching something on the wind, before setting off on two legs in a run, before feeling the certainty of the owner of the scent register in its instinctual mind.

                With a bellow, it dropped to all fours, and charged off into the night.


	7. Ghosts of Old Wrongs

**Author's Note: **Okay, so this update took a little longer, I realise, and for that I am sorry. Believe me? *pause* Didn't think so. Anyway, had a hectic couple of days at work, where the evilness of under ten-year-olds was justified, and I felt like screaming and pulling out all my hair. *cough* Okay, I'm doing being melodramatic, and I feel like letting you get on with the reading now…

**life sucks: **Don't worry about it, my friend. I appreciate what reviews I get from you. They are very comforting :D As for the grades… yipe, not sure what to say about that apart from good luck in everything. Thank you for the comfort regarding the plot. I wasn't sure at the beginning, but I'm really starting to have fun with this now *manic grin* Perhaps too much fun…

**Rayne: **Thank you. I really went all out on the transformation in the hopes I would do all those werewolf fanatics justice. I'm glad you liked it. You know me, trying to keep my updates swift *wink*

**drowchild: **Again, thank you for the comment about the transformation. Joe sounds like they needs a slap… whoever they are. Kill a horse? Oh god, I couldn't do that! I _love_ horses!

**Niani:** Ah yes, the woman. Sorry I killed her off before any of you got to see what she was about… no, wait, I'm not sorry *looks at notes* 'cause it's a minor part of the plot. *turns notes* See? Oops *turns it back and stuffs it in her pocket* Shouldn't be waving that around. Gruesome? Oh it could have been worse… 

**Enduro: **Ah, Enduro, hi! Wow, you reviewed! Cool! Ack… must stop using exclamation marks… that's better. I've calmed down. As for your comment about the help, of _course_ what you gave me was brilliant! I'm just saving it :D Trust me… it will not be wasted.

**Sethoz: ***fans you with her hand* It wasn't _that_ e- okay… maybe it was. Evil? Moi? :O That's harsh… what about you? Yes, the _League _is being quite lazy and silly… haven't they learned from my past stories that this is dangerous! And as for your comment on the 'pack animal' thing… *showers you with cookies and wolf-shaped confetti* And as for your tongue twister at the end… hehehehe.

**Emily M. Hanson: **Thank you, I intend to.

**RogueSparrow: **He went that-a-way! *points* Yes, his werewolf form is quite scary… as in terrifying. He's huge, he's hairy and he's got nice sharp teeth and claws to go with it. New characters shall arrive soon! Have no fear… I mean it… don't be scared…

**LotRseer3350: **Other werewolves? *looks from side to side* Who have you been talking to? You can't prove a thing! *remembers her trailer* Oh… never mind. Thank you regarding the transformation :D

* * *

                The only sound that penetrated the dense copse was that of the running feet of a large black form, its eyes glinting silver in the moonlight, its pants short and sharp, rhythmic and regular as it travelled, its speed unearthly. For its bulk, its grace and agility were astounding, as it leapt over logs and small pools in the wood, sniffing the air again and growling bestially as the scent became clearer. It was getting closer with every passing moment.

                Tom Sawyer – in his werewolf form – didn't exactly know what it was that he was chasing. The animal inside of him could not resist the urge to follow it. There was something so alluring about it that it was impossible to defy. 

                With a growl, he burst from the edge of the trees, and slowed his pace, coming up on the edge of a town. He crouched behind an abandoned cart, and peered into the centre of civilisation from his hiding place, looking out with silver slits from under the wheels. Any child in the town may have caught a glint of the eyes and run to their mother screaming about monsters… but by that point, the beast would already be gone.

                Still travelling – for ease and swiftness – on all fours, Tom slinked away, heading along the tree line and keeping to the shadows. His nose led him on his way, where the scent grew more and more defined as he moved. It would not be long now until he found whatever it was he could smell.

                The scent was odd… there was something about it he could not deny being familiar to, yet the particulars were foreign. He just knew that the bestial part of him _had_ to follow it at all costs.

                He trotted along for many minutes, his senses finely tuned and alert for any sign of his quarry… unknown as it was. Then he stopped suddenly, feet planted widely and firmly on the ground, and his neck arched as he raised his muzzle into the air to sniff. It had moved… the scent was drifting. The jowls of the werewolf curled up, and the teeth snapped slightly in irritation. He would have to move quickly to keep on their trail.

                So it was that he broke into a run, his paw-like hands and feet carrying him the distance with astounding ease. There it was! He had found it again, and he turned in the new direction, heading away from the town further and further as he broke into a full-on gallop of a run. His breath curled away from his maw as he ran, legs pumping to keep his pace constant and steady.

                It was in the cover of bushes and short trees that he stopped in his charge, and flattened his ears back against his broad skull, the left one twitching as he heard a crunch. His eyesight was so heightened that he had very little trouble in scouting _through_ the bushes themselves, the twigs and small leaves doing nothing to hinder his observation of the small park-like opening on the other side. His lips drew back in a growl, a very low rumbling of sound as the form of the owner of the smell became clear for what it was.

                Another werewolf… this one smaller and more lithe than Tom himself. The hair was thinner, and less coarse, of an almost-tan colour when under the light. The head and muzzle were shorter, the teeth in the jaw more shallow in the gums as the maw closed around whatever it was eating, or working on killing. There were wispy tufts of brown hair from the canine ears, and yellow eyes blinked slowly as the jaws snapped closed around a bone and crushed it, tearing it from the prey it kept pinned under one of its paws on the forelimbs. The limbs themselves were more in proportion and much more animalistic than Tom's, and close-set black claws protruded from the pads of the werewolf's feet. There was no tail, and the spine arched slightly as it choked down the meat from the bone of – what Tom had finally identified to be – a deer. Tom's eyes narrowed as he saw clothing hanging torn and ruined from the form, and he noted the way the wolf's head suddenly froze, and one of the ears turned.

                Tom took a step forward, crushing dead leaves under his gigantic clawed foot, and the wolf hovering over the carcass tensed, and dug its claws into the deer's corpse, drawing thick red blood… the same of which was smeared slightly around the beast's muzzle.

                It knew Tom was there.

                Snarling in a feral manner when the other wolf turned, covering its prey with its bulk, Tom exploded from his cover, leaping through the air and landing on the ground a matter of feet from the opponent. He dug his claws into the ground underfoot, and tore up great gouges of dirt and grass. The hair along his spine and shoulders bristled, his hackles rising threateningly. 

                The other beast growled a warning for him to keep away from its kill, and craned its short neck forward, opening its maw to reveal the bloodied canines. The yellow eyes narrowed angrily, and it bellowed, the pitch higher than Tom's own.

                He parted his jaws to show his own fangs, dripping with saliva, and he let out a loud rumble of a snarl, taking a step forward. The other animal did not agree with his positioning, and trembled with rage at the indecency of the interruption and the challenge for its meal. It may also have claimed this as its territory, and therefore felt the need to defend such land, by whatever means necessary.

                But Tom was far larger, and from the size of his limbs in comparison to his new opponent… there was not much to worry about… though he could not fathom in his reasonable mind why he wished to fight at all. The deer did not interest him, nor did the territory. It was just another urge… one too enticing to combat. 

                He began to pace forward, inch by inch, the other beast staying stubbornly rigid in its defiance over its kill, its growls becoming more and more fervent and menacing, reaching a frightening pitch as he came to a stop, right before it, their noses only a matter of centimetres apart.

                The other wolf started to almost whine with its fury, and finally, when its patience completely wore away, it swiped at his muzzle, batting him around the face, claws barely missing his flesh. The blow had been a warning.

                Infuriated now, the bestial rage taking over, Tom bellowed right in its face, and lunged, tackling it and slamming it back and to the ground, his hind legs working as his drive and power, giving him the leverage he needed to force his opponent into the dirt. He felt the mud underneath his adversary shift and give way slightly, and the other beast dug all four legs into his abdomen and pushed viciously.

                Tom was thrown back, and over the carcass of the deer, now forgotten to both wolves. All they were concentrating on was each other, and being the victor in the fight. He was on his feet at once, standing on hind legs at a monstrous, looming height, towering over the tan wolf, practically howling in anger and daring it to come forth in a charge.

                And that was just what it did, ploughing into him and bowling him right off his powerful hind legs and into the ground. They rolled over and over, snapping and clawing at one another, their talons slashing the other's flesh and tearing out chunks of hair. Tom got a brief grip with his jaws on the other wolf's forelimb, and it yelped loudly, slapping him across the muzzle with the flat side of its paw. Tom recoiled, shaking his great head, and growled, teeth bared.

                The tan wolf, bleeding from the wound on its upper left foreleg limped towards him, and reared up on its own hind legs. Tom answered the challenge by copying the first wolf, and they roared in each other's faces, an animalistic test of who was bigger, and who was louder.

                Tom won by far, but that did not stop the smaller from throwing itself at him, springing up into the air and latching around his upper body, digging its claws into his shoulder blades for purchase as it reached down to bite his neck.

                 To throw it off balance, Tom pitched forward instinctively, onto his own forelegs, and pressed one of his huge paw-like hands right into the chest of his opponent, and pushing with all his might, feeling the claws tear out of his back. He roared in pain, and pressed his other hand down on the opposing side of the wolf's chest, snarling right in its face.

                He opened his maw wide, jaws at their limit, and moved to come down for the crushing killing blow… and then he stopped. That smell…

                Tom _knew_ that smell…

                His human mind snapped into focus, and his lupine eyes widened, before he closed his jaws with a snap, and threw himself backwards, landing in a predatory, balanced crouch.

                Willing it to come into being with all his might, he felt his body twist and contort, bones snapping and reshaping as he started to shift back into human form. Something had come to him to give him the power and drive to control it… and before long he was Tom Sawyer again. He stared, green eyes wide, and his jaw dropped a little at the remembrance of the smell.

                The other wolf had rolled onto its front and reclaimed purchase on the ground, and was now eyeing him warily, but advancing at a steady, confident pace. It growled menacingly.

                _It can't be… it's impossible_.

                With this thought in mind, Tom parted his lips and muttered, "Anise?"

                The wolf stopped, ears pricking, and the yellow eyes blinked twice, staring him in the face. It cocked its bestial head, sniffed once, whimpered, and then swiftly started to twist and contort. Their own transformation was far less painful and torturous than Tom's, it seemed, and before long, a figure sat huddled in the grass, bloodied and covered in tattered shreds of clothing. Their brown hair was in their face, and for a while, their head was down turned. Tom stared, disbelieving… waiting.

                Then the face lifted, and the chocolate eyes met his, the beautiful features bearing confusion and incredulity. The delicate brow furrowed, and they cocked their head slightly to one side. "Tom?"

                Tom felt his heart skip a beat, almost leaping into his throat.

                It _was _her… Anise!

                "Oh my god…" he breathed, all other words failing him, and he crawled forward, not feeling the pain from the wounds on his shoulder blades, and he came to a stop two feet from her own crouched form. He reached out a hand, and tentatively touched her cheek.

                She was real…

                "How…" he managed, and drew his hand away, lingering for only a moment. He realised he had been following her scent all along, and the deep urge in his subconscious added to the animalistic instinct had caused him to follow it. And just now… her perfume, as faint as it was.

                Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she blinked them back, mouthing words that took on no sound for a few moments, before saying, "It's you." The accent was still there, as gentle and soothing as he remembered it. 

                "You died," he said, not meaning for it to come out as an accusation. He shook his head; dishevelled blonde bangs in his eyes and settling on his brow. "Mina… she killed you."

                Anise Delacroix smiled, the expression carrying only a slight trace of happiness. "Not quite."

                She took his hand, and gently ran it over her skin from her neck downwards, until he felt the scar. She peeled back what remained of her blouse from that area, revealing the ugly evidence of where Mina Harker had stabbed her with a _silver_ dagger. But its positioning… it should have killed her.

                "An inch to the left… and she _would_ have," Anise revealed grimly, with a lingering of regret.

                Tom didn't know what to feel… happiness was what wished to take precedence, but there was also a clinging edge of sadness at seeing her alive. She had wanted to die, and she had been denied that grace. "All this time… I thought you were dead… and you've been here, alive."

                Anise locked gazes with Tom, and her smile fell, her eyes widening slightly as if in realisation. "Oh, god, Tom… what happened to you?"

                Tom pulled his head back slightly.

                "You… look at you… how did this happen?" Anise's face carried all signs of distress and disappointment, coupled with guilt. 

                Tom hung his head slightly, looking up at her through his locks of hair, saying simply, "Jacques."

                "But I killed him. I-"

                Tom smiled wanly. "The window. He scratched me… at least that's the only thing I can think of to explain all of… this." He sighed heavily, and then felt the sharp stinging in his back. He hissed through clenched teeth, wincing and closing his eyes. He groaned quietly.

                "Oh, I hurt you," Anise murmured awkwardly, and moved to inspect his wounds. 

                Though he was unsure why, Tom flinched away from her, and looked her in the face, saying after a moment, "I'll be okay. Werewolves heal fast, right?"

                Anise turned her head suddenly, and it was only then that Tom truly realised the change in her beautiful tresses of brown hair… they had been cut to her shoulder, dishevelled and almost wild. He frowned. 

                "Someone is coming," she whispered harshly and turned her head back to him at once, struggling to her feet. She offered him her hand, and he hesitated. The last time he had trusted her… she had betrayed him. But she had come through for him in the end, hadn't she? That had to be worth something.

                He reached up, clasping her hand and wrist, and heaved himself off the ground, pushing down the pain in his back and ignoring the fact that he wore only slightly torn pants.  He jogged quickly with Anise into the trees, a thousand questions burning in his mind as to what was happening.

                Tom just couldn't believe it.

                Anise Delacroix was _alive_.


	8. Out of Memory and Time

**Author's Note: **Wow! So many reviews! I'm touched, deeply, I am. I'm _so_ happy you're all enjoying it. *big grin* See? Me happy! Yes, so anyway, I thought I'd get this chapter written pronto as a reward of sorts… plus I'm having fun with it, so Woohoo! Anyway, I'm sitting here listening to LOTR cds… one _and_ two, but sadly not three… ack, off topic, sorry. **_LXG_**! Yay! Oh yes! I also got extremely bored the other night, and actually toddled off and partook in a Mary-Sue litmus test. Out of a possible 104, I scored 12, which makes dear Anise Delacroix a 'well-developed and believable/feasible original character'. Yay! I knew it!

**life sucks: **She is indeed alive… far from dead. I'm glad it was a surprise. That was what I was aiming for, Bwahaha! Soon enough for you?

**RogueSparrow: **Ah yes, the hackles. Dogs do look pretty frightening when they do that, especially if it's night and you can't tell what's got them spooked *shudder*. But yes, imagine a werewolf doing that?! 

**Emily M. Hanson: **Thanks.

**Leigh S. Durron: **Muahahaha, another surprised victim! Oh, did I say victim? I meant reviewer… yes… that will do. Glad you liked.

**Rayne: **Complicated? Me? Never! Hehehehe. It might do. All depends what you class as complicated, my dear Rayne. I'm glad you found the fight scene realistic. I tried to visualise it in my head, as always… and came up with that, so I'm glad it satisfied. 

**angelic katty: **She is alive, yes! I couldn't resist! Ah yes… blessed surprises. Tension? Moi? Never! Lol.

**Melanie: **Welcome to the story. I loved Anise as well, which was why, in 'Silver Bullet', it was heartbreaking to do that to her, and I just _had_ to bring her back! Glad you like such a dramatic revelation.

**LotRseer3350: **Hehehehe, 'unexpected'… slight understatement. No one seemed to see that coming, which I'm glad for. As for what Tom will do with Anise… you'll have to wait and see, won't you?

**Raven Silvers: **Ah, my first screaming reviewer, and I must say, I'm happy it was you, Raven. Lol. I did bring her back, yes. I'm glad you like that I did as well. Wasn't sure how people were going to react, but so far it's all been positive. And as for the explanation… phew! 'Worthy o' Clez', eh? I'm guessing that means it was freaky. Lol. Excellent! Plenty more where that came from! Mina-Anise tension? Ne-… okay, yeah, we all know it's coming. 

**drowchild: **Yay! Anise is back! Oh wait… I already knew that. So anyway… you'll have to wait and see won't you? Torn are we, drowchild? Ah! Don't spaz! 

**Sethoz: **Yay! Once again… yay! More happy people! Lets-kill-Clez-dance? Eeep. Don't like the sound of that. Dense? Well, I don't know if I would go that far… silly or misjudging perhaps. Okay, to hell with it, they're dense. Yes they are. Shouldn't have left Tom alone. All their fault. Wow, that T line sure is growing, huh? 

**Beck 2: **A nice cliffhanger? Does such a thing exist? Yay! You liked my fight scene. I enjoy writing those kinds of scenes… there's always so much variety with what you can do. 

**Niani: **Well, Niani should be able to get her (?) answers pretty soon, as in now. Hope they satisfy. Sorry if I called you a 'her' and you're not. 

**Graymoon74: **Well, shows that you can trust to hope sometimes, doesn't it? Jacques? Hmmm… well, if you remember in 'Silver Bullet' what I said Anise had done to him… do you think he's coming back? I'm glad you liked the fight also.

**Caraphoenix: **Hehehehe, funny reaction. Made me smile. Ack! Monkeys? Not **_monkeys_**! Nooooooo!

* * *

                On the way back to the Nautilus – the only place Tom could think to go – he had managed to reclaim his boots at least, his shirt far from salvageable. He left the shreds of it on the grass outside the barn, and ran the rest of the way with Anise in close pursuit, glancing over his shoulder every couple of minutes to see if they were being followed. For the time being, they were safe. He didn't know what Anise had caught scent of in that small field outside the town, but Tom doubted it was a good thing.

                When they reached the woods near the waterline, Tom stopped and cursed quietly. Anise threw him a look, and whispered, "What is it?"

                Tom nodded his head loosely in the direction of the mighty submersible. "Look," he said for emphasis, and she followed his gaze to see Nemo's men guarding the entrance. It looked like they were going to have trouble getting onto the ship again. 

                "What do we do?" Anise asked, and then quickly added, "Maybe I shouldn't go in with you. Mrs. Harker-"

                "Mina's not onboard right now… none of them are," Tom interjected, looking around and trying to think of a way to get them back on the Nautilus without being seen. Nothing came to mind immediately, and he bit his bottom lip in pensive consideration of the dilemma. 

                _I didn't give this a thought on the way out_, he realised, feeling rather foolish. They could always get back on the way he had left, but Tom seriously doubted his ability to make that leap in the other direction. He also doubted the strength of the tree to vault from. 

                Suddenly, he turned his head to Anise, the shock at her being alive numbed for the time being as he smiled mischievously. "I think I got an idea."

* * *

                Mina stopped at once, as soon as the smell hit her, and she turned her head this way and that to try and follow it. The others paused all around her, watching her very curiously, and noting that the locals found their behaviour extremely odd. 

                "Now what?" Quatermain asked quietly, barely above a hiss of impatience. He leaned in close to her as he said it, and Mina did not look at him or acknowledge him in any solid way.

                She did, however, say, "I can smell them."

                "The werewolves?" Nemo inquired, hands behind his back in a rigid stance. 

                Mina nodded. "Yes… it is coming from over there," she told them, and led the way out of the town and away from prying eyes. The others followed right behind her, staying close in case they should get lost… though there was little danger of that. Mina let her senses guide her, and soon came to a stop in a small clearing just on the edge of the woods, looking down at the ground. There were deep, vicious gouges as if from claws, and obvious signs of a struggle. She sniffed. "Blood," she said, and narrowed her eyes. "They were fighting." 

                Then she saw the carcass.

                "No doubt over dinner, 'eh?" Skinner voiced from the rear, clearly having seen what remained of the slaughtered deer. "Obviously they weren't satisfied with poor old 'Maggie'."

                Mina was about to comment further, when she suddenly stopped herself as the identity of one of the scents hit her in its entirety. It couldn't be. "Quickly… we must get back to the Nautilus at once." 

                Hoping deep in her heart that she was wrong, she headed off at a brisk pace into the woods, the rest of the _League_ trailing behind her like shadows.

* * *

                Climbing onto the conning tower, dripping wet and more uncomfortable than he thought possible; Tom reached down a hand for Anise over the rail where she dangled by one arm. He felt bad for hurting her, and he remembered she had returned the favour… and then the memories of what had happened before his own siring came back to him… her betrayal and lies.

                He pushed the thoughts aside, and gently helped her onto the ship, thankful that they hadn't been seen, at least not yet. They still had to get through the Nautilus without being spotted, and that was going to be difficult, yet again. 

                They had managed to get past the sailors outside the ship by walking a little way down the water's edge and jumping in, then swimming to the Nautilus' other side. He hadn't been certain it would work, but by some miracle, they had been able to climb up the ornate decorations on the hull. Now Tom appreciated their presence, and smiled at the thought. Gesturing to Anise, he walked over – now wearing his boots again – to the door into the ship, and opened it. He led the way in, should anyway see him, they would only hesitate a moment. All hell would break loose if Anise was spotted first. 

                He carefully and quietly went down the ladder, looking left and right for crewmen, and seeing that they were alone for the time being. They would have to be quick. He waited for Anise to finish her awkward climb down, considering one of her arms was wounded and bleeding – even though the flow was slowing – and then headed off in the direction of his cabin with her directly behind him. He poked his head around corners before heading off each time, just in case someone was on the other side. 

                Tom took to jogging steadily when he thought he heard a door open somewhere behind them, and before long, he had opened the door to his cabin for her, signalling for her to hurry inside. As soon as he had stepped inside and closed the door, he heard someone walk past. Tom let out a sigh of relief that they hadn't been noticed, and leaned back against the door, gasping and moving away instantly. Anise noticed his motion, and walked over to him.

                "I'm all right," he said at once, unsure why he was reluctant for her to touch him. He couldn't come to grips with the fact that she was really alive… could it be possible she was here to try and betray him again? 

                _No, that's impossible. She killed Jacques to save me… to save herself. She asked to be killed after all the things she'd done._

                Anise looked him right in the eye firmly. "No you are not. You are hurt. I know because I did it." She turned and walked into his bathroom without even switching a light on, and Tom heard the sound of a cupboard opening, and the running of a tap. He winced, and rolled his shoulders experimentally. They still worked, thankfully, despite the injuries on his back. It hurt like hell though… but even as he stood there, the pain was lessening gradually and steadily. It was a little frightening when he thought about it, considering where the origins of such a phenomenon lay.

                She came out of the bathroom again; a wet towel in her hands, and walked to the middle of the room. She eyed him, and raised a brow. "Are you just going to stand there all night?"

                "What?" Tom mumbled, standing up straighter again, and cocking his head slightly.

                "Come and sit down so I can use this." She held up the towel, and stood by the chair of his desk, somewhat impatiently. She even tapped a foot. 

                He tried not to laugh, and realised she wasn't going to give up until he agreed. So, a little reluctantly, he stepped over to the chair, and sat down on it, slouched forward a little. He felt the cold water from the towel on his back, and swallowed dryly, a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. He shuddered involuntarily.

                "Sorry… did that hurt?"

                Tom shook his head in answer, and then added quietly, "No, it's nothing."

                Anise continued, dabbing the towel gently on the wounds on Tom's back and wiping away the blood. "I am sorry," she said almost inaudibly, "for everything I did."

                Tom frowned. He didn't really want to talk about it, but he realised it would come up sooner or later, and the quicker they addressed it, the faster they could get on with whatever would happen now. "I don't blame you."

                "Of course you do… why shouldn't you?" Anise asked of him, and it was without chagrin that she did so. She did not stop in her tending to his wounds as she added, "It was my fault that you were involved at all."

                Tom stood from the chair, and he felt more than heard Anise move back, something that he did not let bother him right then. He turned to her, and took the towel out of her hands. "Did you pick me for all of what Evans had planned?"

                She did not respond, just avoided his gaze.

                "No, you didn't. Then how can I blame you? Yes, you… you hurt me, and I trusted you… but I know that you had little choice in the matter," Tom told her with a slight edge to his words, trying to sound firm. "Jacques… you were afraid of him, and I don't blame you for that. If you hadn't gone along with whatever they had planned, they would have turned you over to your people for… I don't even want to think about that, and I doubt you do either."

                Anise looked him in the eye again, and there was curiousity about her as she asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "Why don't you hate me? After what I did…"

                He threw the towel onto the chair, and cupped her face in his hands, saying, "I don't blame you, and if you hadn't been there… I probably would still be with Evans right now. I wouldn't be who I am now."

                "But you are still different to what you wanted. You still became what you swore you never would become… what I hate in myself." Anise sounded desperate, distraught.

                "Listen to me," Tom began again, and released his hold on her. He stepped back a little. "What happened… happened. By some miracle, I've decided that I don't 'hate' you, and I'd rather you didn't change my mind on that… I'm not really very good at controlling any of it right now." He hoped she would realise his meaning.

                Before she could respond, there came a knocking at the door, and they looked to one another. Tom mouthed the words 'in the bathroom' quickly, and grabbed a robe off the hook by the door, slipping it on as quickly as possible. His hair was still damp and in his face, and he kicked his boots off, making as little noise as possible. Anise grabbed the bloodied towel on her way into the bathroom, and closed the door to once she was inside and concealed in the darkness. Tom gave the room a once-over with his eyes, and then moved to open the door, even as the person on the other side knocked again.

* * *

                Mina stepped backwards when the door opened, and Tom could be seen in the shadow. His hair was dripping slightly onto the floor, and he wore a robe. From what she could see, it looked as though he was wearing trousers, but she couldn't be certain. After all, she didn't know what he wore in bed… he could very well be readying himself to settle down for the night.

                "Agent Sawyer," she began, somewhat unsurely now that she saw him inside the vessel after being almost certain she had smelt him outside, "is everything all right?"

                Tom smiled. "Of course, Mrs. Harker." He paused, and then added, "Sorry if I look a little messy… I've just washed." He laughed quietly, and shook a lock of hair from his eyes.

                "Oh… of course."

                "Is something wrong, Mrs. Harker?"

                Mina looked back to Tom, staring at him seriously for a moment, before shaking her head swiftly, and smiling herself. She had been foolish, hasty in her identification of the scent. "No, no… not at all. I just wanted to check that you were all right. The last couple of days must have been hard on you, I realise."

                Tom looked uncomfortable, understandably, and shuffled on his feet, saying, "Um… is it okay if we discuss this tomorrow? I'm… I'm kinda tired." He smiled weakly. "Long day."

                Mina blinked, and then nodded. "Absolutely. My apologies, I am keeping you awake. Sorry to have disturbed you."

                "Not at all." Tom smiled again, and Mina examined the expression, trying to find anything hidden there. Either Tom was suddenly a very talented actor, or he was telling the truth. Considering all that had happened recently, she decided on a mixture of the two… after all, it was a lot to deal with.

                "Good night, Mrs. Harker," Tom said to her quietly. "I'll see you in the morning."

                She nodded, and moved to turn away, but Tom called to her suddenly, "Oh… did you find the woman?"

                Mina closed her eyes briefly, saddened, and then turned back. "I'm afraid she was no longer available, Agent Sawyer." She paused, musing over whether or not to tell the young man the truth, and then deciding perhaps it was not best… not today. "Good night."

                Tom nodded slowly, and then disappeared back into his room. Mina wasn't sure, but she thought for one moment she heard the door lock.

* * *

                Anise poked her head out of the bathroom, her mahogany hair dripping around her face, and regarded Tom Sawyer with chocolate brown eyes, her brow knitted in concern. "Is everything all right?" she asked, hesitant to emerge from her place of concealment.

                Tom looked up as if he had forgotten her presence, something that did little to comfort Anise, and nodded. "She… Mina… I don't know. She was checking up on me. She's just concerned." He slipped the robe off, and put it back on the hook casually, sighing loudly, rolling his neck to the side as if it ached him.

                Anise emerged from the bathroom, the towel still in her hand. "I do not blame her."

                Tom looked at her suddenly. "Why is everybody always worrying about me?"

                Anise smiled at that somewhat stubborn comment, so much like how she remembered him when they had first met, and strode up to him. "Shouldn't they be?"

                "Well…"

                Anise arched a brow patiently, waiting for him to finish, and when he didn't, she sighed lightly, and walked behind him, frowning at the wounds she had inflicted. "Let them show their concerns, Tom… you are lucky to have people who worry."

                She realised just how selfish and pathetic her comment had sounded, and she inwardly cursed herself for it. She wished to take it back, even as she touched the towel to the injuries on his back again, trying to pretend she had said anything other than what she had.

                To her surprise, Tom did not reply, just stood still and let her tend to the cuts and scratches… deep as they were. She knew better than he did how quickly they would heal, but that did not stop her guilt. Coupled with all of what had happened before her 'death', Anise was about ready to flee as soon as an oppurtunity presented itself. She was inwardly worried he would reveal her to the others… and it was perhaps their reactions that worried her more than anything Tom might say.

                Anise remembered just how she had seen Tom not long ago… he had been so different, so vicious… a werewolf, like herself. His size had been astounding and terrifying, the malice in his eyes on top of the sheer vicious look of him overall had almost caused her – even in her wolf form – to retreat. She had never realised just how foreboding a fellow werewolf could appear. True, she had seen many shapes and sizes, but nothing so menacing as Tom's perhaps. Jacques Beauvais had been similar, but not quite so large, and his hair had been much more akin in shade to the bark of a tree than Tom's… his was almost pure black. It was odd, considering the American had blonde locks in his human form.

                But then again… she supposed she would never fully understand anything about it all, even though she had been a werewolf for some time now, and been in the company of many far older than herself. She knew very well what Tom must be going through… she had been there herself, in that place of cold and darkness where it seemed you would always be alone.

                She brought the towel down from his back, seeing that the wounds had stopped bleeding. Tom sensed her stillness, and turned slowly, looking into her eyes with an odd sense of understanding. She still could not comprehend why he wasn't angry with her.

                But then… perhaps he was. Maybe he just wasn't showing it in the sense she could understand. 

                She opened her mouth to speak, but his reaching down to take the towel out of her hand made her freeze and reconsider. She closed her mouth again, and let him take the cloth. He touched it to her wounded arm, and – accustomed to the feeling – Anise did not flinch or wince. Sadly, she had suffered worse.

                Anise tried to avoid his gaze, for she could not stand the feeling that welled up inside of her whenever she did. She felt as though she would lose all control. Not long ago, she had told herself she was falling in love with this young man… this kind, compassionate, sensitive and brave American man who had trusted her so blindly and affectionately. And she had betrayed his trust and his affections, turning him over to the one man she had truly hated, risking his life, and as a result he was now something she despised… but had come to terms with long ago. She had cursed him into an existence she knew the pain of well, and that was almost more than she could bear. 

                Hanging her head, Anise tried to tell herself that she could not fall for him again.

* * *

                Tom saw the way she hung her head, as if she were afraid or ashamed to look at him, and before long, it was more than he could stand as he said, "You don't want to be here, do you?"

                Her eyes shot up to meet his at that, and she wore a hurt expression, which quickly faded and became one of reluctance. "It is not that… I… I do not belong here. I never did."

                Tom turned his green eyes back on his task, trying to be gentle with her, and feeling guilty that he was cleaning up an injury _he_ had caused… _he _had hurt someone, with his bare hands… or claws rather. It was disconcerting. He had almost injured Mina in that alley in Paris, and now he had actually wounded Anise. Who was next? Then he remembered he had almost attacked Skinner in that same alley as well, and his heart sank a little more. The people he trusted and cared for were in danger when he was around… unless he could control this thing, and it was starting to sound as though that would never happen.

                Then he realised what had happened out near the woods. He had willed himself to change back… and it had _worked_. The wolf had receded, and Tom Sawyer had claimed his body again. He tried to think of why that might have been… and not willing – as of yet – to come to any rash conclusions, he decided that it had been a stroke of unusual luck on his part. A fluke.

                "Maybe you _don't_ belong here," Tom said to Anise at last, and noticed she did not flinch or recoil from his words. "Maybe I don't either. Who knows?" He smiled wryly. "Who cares?"

                Anise glanced up at him, her wet hair in her eyes and face, and she knitted her brow in confusion.

                He shook his head, staring at her, and though he couldn't understand it, his breathing quickened, and his heart beat a little faster in his chest. "Right now… I don't." Tom's eyes locked with hers, and for a long time, he just stared at her, taking in every detail of her face, the face he had grown so fond of not long ago. The towel dropped from his hand, and he felt his mouth go dry, everything else around them falling away and becoming lost to his conscious thoughts.

                Without warning, he had taken her face in his hands, and kissed her hungrily, noticing how she did not resist or try to fight him, instead gave in to him completely and returned the passionate embrace, even as she lost her balance with his sudden movement, and toppled backwards onto the safety of the bed.

                He came down on top of her, still holding her in the kiss… he hadn't realised how much he had wanted this… how much he had wanted _her_. One of his hands stroked her hair back from her face as the other kept him up from pinning her down with his full weight. One of her hands was resting on the back of his neck possessively, the other running over his chest, sending shivers down his spine as their kiss became deeper, hungrier, more passionate.

                Whether it was the wolf inside or Tom himself… he couldn't let go… not again.


	9. Instinct

**Author's Note: **Well, welcome to Chapter 9. Took it's sweet time, didn't it? Oh wait… that would be my fault. Ah yes… my apologies. *ashamed* I'll try not to let it happen again. As compensation for the awful wait, this chapter is extra long, as a special treat, and because I seem to have messed up in my chapter plan. I put too much data into one chapter  ^_^ Silly me. Oh well, your gain. Lol.

**life sucks: **You thought _that_ was long? Hah! Look at that scroll bar! LOOK! Cough… ahem… I'm fine, really… A Mary-Sue test is a little thing I took to see whether or not Anise is a self-insertion… turns out (shock, horror, gasp!) she's not! Like I didn't know that already, lol.

**angelic katty: **Don't worry… they'll probably have a tiff later.

**Rayne: **Yes indeed, it _was_ Anise in the trailer. Lol, yes, silly Mina…

**LotRseer3350:** American Government? Where? Oh yeah… don't worry. I think they're in the next chapter actually. You'll have to let me know what you've got so far in regards to your story, and I'll see what I can do to help.

**Graymoon74: **Hehehehe… did you enjoy your cold shower? As for the physical angst thing… not saying a word. Bwahaha!

**Raven Silvers: **Yes, everybody needs a little break every now and then, even Tom. OCs? I think this chapter may satisfy, my dear Raven.

**Sethoz: **You okay over there? I refer you to Seer's comment, and Raven's too for a couple of your questions, lol. And that T line certainly is growing. Lol.

**Beck2: **Romance? Where? *looks at last chapter* Oh yeah. 

**RogueSparrow: **Me? Steal a lyric from 'Into The West'? Never! Okay, so maybe I did… I couldn't help it. 

**Niani: **It was a tame cliffy at least. Could have been _much_ worse.

**Nathan-Daystorm:** Glad you're enjoying it. Protective… hmm… you'll have to wait and see. Mwahahaha! *hands you pliers for the fishing hook*

* * *

                Skinner yawned and stretched as he strode down the corridor to the Nautilus, and remembered what Mina had told them about Sawyer the night before. She had been certain she'd smelt him. Outside, that is. So she had gone off to question him when they'd returned to the ship, and found him fresh out of a bath or something, and perfectly fine… or so she'd said.

                But as he was passing Sawyer's cabin on his way – early for once – to breakfast, there was something unsettled deep in the pit of Skinner's stomach, something that told him all was not as it seemed. It was almost instinctual, but he stopped outside the door, and just stared at it. Looking from side to side, he removed his pince-nez from his face as he gently tried the handle.

                It was locked.

                _Nothing a little expert precision won't fix_, he thought with a wry smile, pulling off his trilby and looking about, finding a store cupboard across the corridor. He slipped inside quickly and quietly, and flicked on the lamp after closing the door. He placed his glasses and hat on a shelf, and cast his eyes about, muttering happily when he found an unused towel. He took to wiping the cream from his face, using the glass of a bottle as a reflective surface… the best thing he could find at short notice. When he was certain he had more or less cleared it all from his features, he pulled off his leather coat, and laid it carefully on the shelf with his other items.

                Skinner crept from the cupboard, and closed the door again, before tiptoeing back over to Sawyer's cabin with the lock pick in his hand. 

                _Now_, he thought as he crouched at the keyhole, _let's see if I remember how to do this._

                He poked the little instrument into the opening, and concentrated, turning it this way and that, waiting for the affirming click that was music to his ears. He had grown to love the sound over his career, and when it happened this time, it was no different. He grinned broadly, and looked up and down the corridor again before tossing the device near the cupboard as quietly as possible. It landed in the corner of the doorway, just out of sight, something that only served to make Skinner happier.

                _Not bad… not bad at all._

                He tried the handle again, finding success in the form of no resistance, as the door opened quietly and smoothly. Skinner slipped inside stealthily, and waited as his eyes tried to adjust.

                Of course, he wasn't at all expecting to be violently thrust up against the wall by his throat, and to have his neck squeezed enough to make breathing very difficult. He reached up with invisible hands to try and pry off his attacker, unable to talk.

                When a lamp flicked on across the other side of the room, he was not surprised to find it was Sawyer holding him up against the wall, Skinner's feet dangling a good five inches off the ground. There was anger and a hidden menace in the green, somewhat shaded eyes, and his blonde locks were in a tangle atop his head… the glare was still dangerously clear to him though.

                Skinner tried to form words of protest, and Sawyer tightened his grip slightly, angrily, but then the thief let his gaze wander over to the figure who had activated the lamp.

                His heart nearly failed him.

* * *

                Tom was furious. How dare Skinner invade his privacy? The American had heard the picking of the lock, and had been waiting in the darkness for the sneaky thief to make his entrance… and then he had pounced.

                Of course, he only realised just how much pressure he was applying to Skinner's throat when a small squeak emanated from the invisible intruder. Tom let go, and Skinner crashed to the floor, coughing violently.

                "What the _hell_ are you doing?" Tom snapped, thankful he had had the presence of mind to pull his pants on before jumping the other man. He glared down at where he assumed Skinner was – even though he could smell him, oddly enough – and felt his chest heave with anger. It was difficult to keep the anger down enough to stop the churning inside of him… the same sensation that had affected him last night.

                Anise stood near the bed, wide-eyed and frightened, her brown hair dishevelled but still carrying an odd grace as she shifted the blanket around her frame. She looked to Tom timidly, and then to the panting heap – or so they assumed – that was Skinner as he recovered.

                "What am _I_ doing?" Skinner managed hoarsely, and he coughed once again, before blurting, "What the hell are _you_ doing?" His voice had risen, and Tom winced. Someone would hear him.

                "Skinner, be quiet!" he hissed, and took a step forward.

                "Whoa, stay back!" Skinner warned, quite a hollow threat considering. There was a moment's pause, before the thief added, "I thought she was _dead_!"

                Tom crouched before his 'friend', and ran his hands through his hair, hanging his head with a heavy, weary sigh. He groaned quietly, even as Anise disappeared into the bathroom with some of the American's spare clothes. The door clicked closed, and Tom raised his head to face Skinner, saying, "Look… so did I, until last night."

                "… You left the ship," Skinner mumbled. There was the sound of him scrambling to his feet. "Mina said she'd smelt you, but when we got back, you were still here."

                "I _had_ to leave. It was driving me crazy being cooped up," Tom informed him, rising to his full height as well. He only then realised the stinging in his back was gone. Anise had assured him his wounds would heal swifter now, and he realised how accurate she had been. "I saw her die, just like you, Skinner, but it turns out Mina missed… I didn't even recognise her at first out there."

                "That was _you two_ fighting out there," Skinner interrupted, and then he made a small gasp of a noise. "Sawyer… did Mina tell you about that woman we went to find?"

                Tom shook his head slowly, furrowing his brow. What was Skinner talking about?

                "Sawyer," Skinner began in an urgent voice, "she's _dead_! Something had ripped her apart, and Mina said it was werewolves…"

                Tom shook his head faster this time, muttering, "No… not a chance, Skinner. Don't even _say_ that."

                "If they find out you were out scrappin' with _her_, they're gonna think it was _you_!" 

                Skinner had a point… a very good point at that, not to mention a frightening one. Tom bit his lower lip in consideration, and heard Skinner moving for the door. He looked up in alarm.

                "Sorry, mate, but I've got to tell some-"

                Tom hadn't realised how fast he'd moved until he was slamming the door closed with the flat of his palm from behind Skinner, who leapt away with a small cry of surprise.

                "I wish you'd stop that!"

                "I can't help it," Tom grumbled quickly, and kept his hand firmly on the door. "If you tell them… they'll kill her… _really_ kill her this time."

                Anise had not emerged from the bathroom. Tom guessed she hadn't planned to come back out whilst Skinner was still here anyway, and he didn't blame her.

                "Skinner," he began, quietly, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing lightly, "please… just… don't tell them. Not yet."

                "And what do you propose we do, 'eh? Keep her hidden away. Mina is gonna _smell_ her the minute you walk into that dining hall for breakfast… which we're late for I might add."

                Tom leaned against the doorframe, and frowned. "Just… I'll tell them. Okay? I'd rather let them know in my own way. Please?"

* * *

                Skinner frowned. He hated it when Sawyer pulled the guilt trip on him… it _always_ worked. There was a great battle raging within Skinner as to what he should do, and for a long while, he didn't say anything, just let it all rage through him and decipher itself in its own messy way. He met Sawyer's gaze, and blurted, "Oh all right!"

                There was no ghost of a smile on Sawyer's face as he breathed, "Thank you. I'll explain _everything_, I swear."

                "You'd better do," Skinner retorted, jabbing a finger at the American before realising it was a feeble motion, and he quickly retracted his hand. "Now if you don't mind, I'd best be running off to breakfast before someone starts to worry. Last thing you want is them snooping around, I'm sure."

                The younger man nodded, and moved away from the door, letting Skinner past.

                "And you'd better hurry up, Sawyer," Skinner added as he was slipping out. "If you're not there in five minutes…" he paused, hesitant to say what he wished to, before quickly letting it out, "I _will_ tell them."

                Sawyer just stared for a moment, and then closed the door. There was the sound of the locking mechanism again, and Skinner sighed heavily, rubbing his neck, heading over to the cupboard for his things and remembering he would need to repaint his face.

                Even though he would never admit it… that had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life.

* * *

                Allan looked up from his breakfast as Skinner – or rather what was visible of him anyway – walked into the room with a curious air of urgency. He hurriedly took his seat, and poured himself some tea, grabbing a slice of toast with a muttered, "Morning."

                Allan and Mrs. Harker exchanged confused glances, before the woman glanced to her right where the man sat, asking, "Are you all right, Mr. Skinner?"

                "Fine."

                That was all he said on the matter, buttering the toast quickly and proceeding to nibble at it rather nervously. 

                For a thief, he really was quite terrible at hiding what he was feeling when he wore that face paint. Allan arched a brow. He was about to open his mouth and ask if the thief had seen Agent Sawyer on his way, but when the door opened again and the object of his intended inquiry walked in, he let the matter drop in his mind. Sawyer walked up to the seat between Allan and Jekyll, and sat down quietly, offering a feeble smile to everyone.

                "How are you today, Agent Sawyer?" Dr. Jekyll asked politely, lifting his cup to drink and eyeing the young man somewhat warily, as if he expected him to turn and attack at any minute. Allan rolled his eyes discreetly.

                "Uh… I'm fine," Sawyer mumbled, and looked as though he were trying to decide if he was hungry or not. "Thank you."

                Allan studied the boy's face as he sat there, looking a little out of place. There was something else in his eyes as well, that the hunter could not decipher, and he furrowed his brow, deciding to stem his curiousity for the time being, and drop the matter. Sawyer eventually settled back in his chair, clearly not interested in any of the food available, though he did drink a cup of tea quite quickly… a little too quickly. Allan was amazed it didn't burn the boy's throat, but Sawyer did not seem affected at all.

                _Something's wrong_, Allan thought, musing over what the reason could be, and finding nothing came to mind. He looked across the table to the other occupants, and found that Harker could not take her eyes off Sawyer. It wasn't a longing expression either… she was angry. Allan would never admit it, but the expression sent a chill up and down his spine. Even after all he had seen – even in death – in his years, that look was enough to frighten him more than he thought possible.

                Suddenly, her gaze hardened resolutely, and with a scowl, she stood from the table. Sawyer watched her, looked to Skinner, who Allan noticed was avoiding the American's eye, and also stood. 

                Harker was already storming from the room, and Allan, Nemo and Jekyll exchanged curious glances, even as Sawyer darted out through the doors in pursuit of the vampire. Skinner seemed hesitant to follow the other three men as they stood and gave chase, but clearly not wanting to be left out, he trotted along after them.

                Allan had no idea what was going on, but he had the distinct impression he was about to find out.

* * *

                **_Damn _**_Skinner_, was all Tom could think as he ran after Mina, who was using all of her speed to put distance between them. He knew where she was headed, and his heart raced in his chest at what would happen if he didn't get there first. He skidded around another corner in the corridor, and saw her at the next bend. With a glare, he used a sudden burst of speed to his advantage, and shot off after her. _He told her… he must have. How else would she know?_

                He could hear the others in swift pursuit behind him, and he didn't need to turn his head to glance over his shoulder in order to know that the entire _League_ was running in the same direction. 

                _Run faster_, he told himself, and found his legs obeying. He couldn't remember ever running so fast, and he turned the last corner, seeing Mina Harker at his own cabin door. She was reaching for the handle, and Tom bolted down the corridor, just as she threw the door open and stepped inside the room. He heard her feral growl.

                The rest of the _League_ darted around the corner, just in time to see Tom disappear inside his cabin. They chased to the doorway, just as the most unbelievable of sights took place.

                Tom had grabbed a hold of Mina, and thrown her backwards, whirling on her bestially with a ferocious growl that rumbled deep in his throat. He wasn't ashamed to hold it down, as Anise cowered on the bed, curled up with fright near the headboard. Tom stood at the foot of the bed, standing in a rigid, defensive way, growling in a low, threatening manner.

                Mina had reeled backwards, and now stared at Tom in obvious disbelief. Her still-blue eyes were wide with amazement, and her mouth parted slightly in shock. 

                The two supernatural creatures stood facing each other off for a long moment, and the _League_ stood in the doorway, in a mixture of horror and awe at the spectacle within.

                "My goodness," Nemo exclaimed softly, and Tom guessed he was referring to the Frenchwoman who was sliding off the bed, and walking to the American's side.

                She touched a hand to his arm, even as Jekyll took it upon himself to divert his eyes to his hands as they fiddling with his pocket watch. Tom let his growl die away, and wavered in his vehemence, as Anise muttered his name.

                "She is alive?" Nemo muttered. "How can this be?"

                "That is precisely what _I_ would like to know," Mina grumbled, taking a step towards the two werewolves.

                Tom thrust himself in front of Anise, who moved out of his way, and looked a little sheepish at the protection he was bestowing upon her. She did not resist it, but she seemed a little taken aback by it. 

                "Stay away from her," Tom returned in a low tone, even as Quatermain strode slowly and carefully into the room.

                "Can someone explain all of this to me? Who _is_ this woman?" 

                "Later, Mr. Quatermain," Mina snapped, and that was intended to be the end of it, her eyes still locked with Tom's. 

                Tom wasn't sure if this was intended to be a challenge or not, but if it was… he was more than ready to take her up on it. He had almost ripped her apart in that alley… he would do it again, though he would be damned if he knew the whole reason behind it. He seemed to be instinctively protective of Anise, afraid to let Mina near her, perceiving her as the threat he knew deep down in his heart the vampire was to the fellow lycanthrope.

                "Agent Sawyer," Mina began carefully, "step aside…"

                "No."

                "Please."

                "I won't let you touch her."

                Mina glared. "For heaven's sake, boy… I'm not going to hurt her. I know very well that you could kill me effortlessly in your other form if you wanted to."

                "Then what _are_ you doing?" Tom countered heatedly, and cocked his head to one side in inquiry. 

                Mina stood stock still before him, unwavering yet silent. Her eyes were locked with his, and she did not even blink. She simply stood there, unresponsive.

                Tom resisted the bestial growl again as he said, "I knew it." Then the sensation was suddenly back in his stomach, and he doubled over with an abrupt cry. He held a hand to his stomach, and breathed heavily.

                Quatermain moved forward, but Mina held him back, even as Anise crouched down beside Tom as he fell to one knee, and touched a hand soothingly to his back, muttering to him, "Fight it, Tom, you don't want this now. You have to take control of it. I went through the exact same thing at first… but I learned to master it… and I will help you to do so as well."

                Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Tom set his jaw defiantly, and pushed the sensation down… quicker than before. He opened his eyes slowly, and saw that Mina had backed away, as if afraid. She was looking at him now, her eyes a little wider, and some of her determination lost in her stance. Tom looked from the vampire, to the confused hunter. Jekyll was stood outside on the other side of the corridor, itching to get away it seemed, with Nemo standing intrigued near to him. Skinner was cowering near the back.

                Tom held his gaze on Skinner, who quickly blurted, "Look, I didn't tell her, all right?"

                Mina turned her head quickly in Skinner's direction. "You _knew_?"

                "I only found out when Sawyer here _attacked_ me!"

                Tom narrowed his eyes. "You picked my lock!" Anise was still beside him, watching the heated exchange with deep concern and perhaps even a little fright. Tom could practically sense her urge to get out of the situation as quickly as possible.

                Mina looked back to Tom and Anise, settling her eyes on the American and saying, "Mr. Skinner – whatever he knew – did not tell me of Miss Delacroix's unbelievable presence, I assure you. Believe what you will… but I smelt her on you the minute you stepped into the dining room." There was an edge to her voice that only served to make Tom's anger escalate.

                _They're all angry… they're confused… and look at them; they're frightened of me. _It was heartbreaking, but understandable… as well as infuriating. He looked at them each in turn, deciphering the expressions on their faces: fear; disbelief; anger; confusion; disappointment.

                Tom stood, taking hold of Anise by the hand, and then by the arm, and leading her from the room. As everyone darted backwards out of their way, it only served to solidify the course of action in his head. 

                "Sawyer!" Quatermain called after them, as Tom and Anise walked swiftly and with purpose down the corridor, though the latter wasn't quite so certain what was going on.

                "Tom, what are we doing?"

                "We're getting out of here," he told her angrily, his face set grimly, as he led her to the ramp out of the ship. He had a feeling they wouldn't be stopped this time.

* * *

                Mina walked out of the now-empty cabin, and called to Allan Quatermain as he made to pursue the two young werewolves, "Leave them be, Mr. Q."

                The hunter turned back to her, eyes blazing with confusion and anger. "You plan to just let them leave? When Sawyer is in that condition?"

                Mina sighed, rubbing her temples. She still couldn't believe Sawyer had _thrown_ her back from Anise like that. "Sawyer is in no 'condition' for us to be concerned about, Mr. Quatermain… clearly, he can handle himself, and Miss Delacroix seems to have a better calming affect on him than you do yourself, meaning no offence."

                Quatermain stood defiantly before her, silent for a moment. Skinner, Jekyll and Nemo watched with varying degrees of intrigue or anxiety, until the hunter blurted, "Will somebody please explain what the hell is going on here?"

                Mina groaned quietly. This certainly was going to take some time and patience.

* * *

                She looked over her shoulder at him as they walked through the woods, up a small hill, and noticed the tension in his limbs as he moved. He was angry… that much was obvious, but he was clearly upset underneath all of that, covering it with a shroud as if embarrassed by such an emotion. Anise frowned.

                "You should not blame them, Tom," she said to him, knowing that he would pick out her voice even in the quiet rustling of the Scotland outdoors, with the sounds of nature chattering away all around them as they broke through the trees into a clearing, on a small apex of a minor hill.

                Tom came up behind her as she stopped for a moment, taking in the smells and sounds of the place she had come to call home recently. Although she had not been here long, she had actually grown quite fond of this almost lazy place, with its charm and slow pace. 

                "I never said I blamed them," Tom told her quietly, stopping just slightly behind her, looking around as if curious as to where they were. They was an air of mild apprehension about him as well, as though he didn't entirely trust her. She didn't blame him for that, but she did greatly appreciate the way he had stood up for in front of his own friends. 

                "I just expected more of them… that's all." 

                Anise turned to him, and smiled softly. "I know how you feel. Before everything with Beauvais and Evans…" she sighed, and laughed quietly. "Well, you can probably guess what I was going to say."

                He nodded slowly, putting his hands in his pockets, a habit he clearly had no intention of breaking anytime soon. She reached up gently, and planted a light kiss on him, attempting to be comforting, but whether or not she succeeded… she didn't know. He didn't let on, and she was comfortable to let it pass for what it was.

                She carried on her way, knowing they were almost to what she wanted to show him, what she trusted him enough to see.

                With her back to Tom, Anise smiled.

* * *

                He followed behind her, more than a little tentative. He had trusted her blindly before and been hurt, but he wasn't exactly so vulnerable this time. Tom liked to think – perhaps stubbornly – that he would have been victorious in their little scuffle in their lycanthropic forms… but he didn't want to have to resort to that. This time, though he was unsure why… he trusted her. 

                Tom traipsed through the trees with her, noticing the way everything immediately around them fell quiet as they passed, as though all the animals were frightened or intimidated… perhaps both. Not a creature stirred, and that fact disheartened Tom. Even though he had tormented insects as a child in Missouri, he liked to think of himself as an animal-enthusiast… now it seemed they were all afraid of him.

                Sighing, he followed Anise into the next clearing, this one much larger than the last, and set down in a slight dip in the floor of the wood. He looked up from his boots, and stopped. 

                There, sitting quite out of place, was a house, single storey, but wide from what he could tell. There was a tall wire fence around the perimeter, and what looked like a gate facing the obvious front door. Tom furrowed his brow, and glanced to Anise, who was smiling and looking over her shoulder at him.

                "What-"

                "Do you trust me?"

                Tom looked her in the eye, hesitating before nodding briskly. "Yes."

                Anise smiled again, and led the way up to the tall wire gate, opening it and slipping inside. She let him in, and then closed it once more, before leading him up to the front door. Looking around him as he followed her, Tom had to guess the fence was about fifteen feet tall, ominous and ugly. Glancing back to Anise, he saw that she had opened the front door. It had been unlocked.

                At his questioning gaze, she said, "I was expected. We don't get many visitors, as I'm sure you can understand."

                _'We'? What does she mean by 'we'?_ Tom stepped into the house with her, and immediately heard the sound of a scream of what seemed to be anger. Anise laughed, and led Tom down a bare – and rather narrow – corridor towards another door. She pulled it open, and stepped inside.

                When Tom followed, his jaw dropped at once. There, standing in the obvious lock of a challenge were two figures. The first was huge… colossal even, standing at close on seven feet, wearing a sleeveless vest, and holding in his huge hands a quarterstaff. His feet were bare, but his palms and knuckles were wrapped in white cloth as though they had been bandaged. Tom could tell from where he stood that they were not wounded though, and it was merely for training. The man's short hair was dark brown, almost black, and he had matching intelligent eyes, with an oddly knowing smirk on his face. If Tom had to guess, he would have said the man was about thirty, if not a little younger.

                The second, despite being far smaller, only just over five feet, looked the more ferocious and volatile of the two. It was a young woman, about Tom's age, and she was standing in a professional defensive stance, legs wide, feet firmly planted. She had long black hair; her bangs cut in a neat line across her brow, just above cool – yet somewhat soulful – brown eyes that were narrowed in anticipation. She was dressed very much appropriately for combat, in pants and a blouse that did not hinder her movement. But perhaps the most intimidating thing about her was what she held in her hands. In the left was a long and wicked looking dagger that shone in the light of the numerous lamps around the room. And in her right was a longer, slightly curved sword with a round guard and smoothly surfaced hilt. Tom wracked his brain for the word, and found it tucked in the back of his mind… a katana.

                The woman had them both angled in an attacking posture, and without a sound, she lunged, slashing and swinging the blades in perfect synchronised motions at the man, who twisted and turned the resilient staff this way and that to block her. The metal struck the wood with hollow thuds, until finally the katana shattered the staff entirely out of the man's grip, and to save his arm from being badly wounded, he twisted his whole body around, and lashed out at the woman with a kick, striking her between the shoulder blades and knocking her forward with a shout.

                And as suddenly as they had started, they ceased, when Anise laughed, clapping her hands for a moment. She nodded her head, and muttered, "Impressive."

                The woman with the blades muttered something that Tom could not make out, in a foreign language, and eyed the man who had kicked her with some contempt, before smiling just at the edge of her mouth. She tucked the dagger into a leather sheath at her waist, and claimed a long, thing and equally curved scabbard from the side of the room. It looked to be made of wood, but it shone in the light, pitch black with a kind of ghostly swirling of grey around its length. She spun the katana skilfully and with very little effort, and slipped it with precision back into the case. 

                The two walked over to him, and from the display he had just seen, Tom was tempted to take a step back for safety. They were obviously skilled in combat… and Tom – though comfortingly weighed down by his Colt pistols – knew he would probably lose in a fight.

                The man looked – surprisingly – more welcoming than the woman. He held out a hand without being introduced. Anise laughed, and said, "This is Dmitri. He comes from Russia. I met him on a cargo vessel over from America after… well…"

                Dmitri took Tom's hand in his and pumped it enthusiastically in greeting. 

                Tom winced at the unbelievable strength in just the one limb, and managed to say, "Tom Sawyer. Nice to meet you." 

                Dmitri released Tom's hand, and laughed heartily, nodding. "The pleasure is mine." His accent was thick but understandable, and Tom smiled at him politely. He seemed friendly enough… a little too happy though, perhaps.

                The other woman looked at Tom warily, her eyes still narrowed sceptically as to his intentions. Tom swallowed subtlely; intimidated by the katana she still carried in her hand, and offered her a weak smile.

                "And this is Lei Cheung, from the Orient," Anise informed him.

                _At least she has two names_, Tom thought wryly, and nodded, offering his hand. Lei Cheung took it, and only shook it twice before letting go. With that, she left the room. Tom watched her, all traces of his anger and disappointment about the _League_ forgotten for the time being at the prospect of meeting these new people.

                "Was it something I said?" he asked, and Dmitri laughed, clapping him on the back. Tom winced, the traces of the injury still present on his shoulder blades, though not as painful as they should have been thankfully. His new metabolism was taking care of that for him.

                "Do not worry," the Russian said to him, towering over him formidably, "she is always like this. Sometimes she is very rude indeed. You have seen her on a _good_ day!"

                Tom couldn't help but laugh at the man's words, and nodded. He looked to Anise.

                Anise smiled, rubbing his arm as he tucked his hands in his pockets, feeling a little more at ease.

* * *

**A/N2: **Okay, so kill me for ending it there! But look at it! It's _huge_! Some of the content from this chapter has been shifted to the next. Don't worry… you will get that update pretty sharp-ish, quicker than this one anyway. If it takes too long, don't hesitate to PM me, and give me a good poke, lol. I won't be offended.


	10. The Hunt Is On

**Author's Note: **This didn't take a long time... it was just your imagination, I swear! Okay, okay, so I'm lying. Was it _that_ obvious? Yes... I suppose it was, wasn't it? Anywho, here's Chapter 10, fresh off the presses... hmm, well not exactly. Gah! Rambling! Thanks to **ikhan11** for his help with the name ^_^ Grrr... ff.net has decided to play up... *sigh*

**foundapeanut: **Hehe, don't worry about rambling. I do it all the time, don't I? Your favourite chapter? Awesome. 

**life sucks: **My friend, **ikhan11,** had to do that once actually... I've done it by accident as well... kick in a door that is. Ack, I hope you don't think my guys _are_ Mary-Sues o_O That would be terrible. I'm happy you like Anise.

**Rayne: ***waves 'Go Mina' flag, and hands you one*

**RogueSparrow: **Ooh! You _have_ to show me that picture when you're done, okay? I have to see that! I pictured it in my head, but an illustration of it would be awesome! 

**Sethoz: **Scary? I suppose you could say that, yeah. ^_^ Groovy. I might just have to write Tom and Mina having an actual fight for the fun of it, lol! 

* * *

                Night settled in rather quickly in Scotland that day, and the light started to wane and fade away until the moon had risen and started to pierce through the treetops and mottle the grounds of the woodland all about the small house encircled by the foliage, in its own small enclosure, isolated from the rest of nearby civilisation. It seemed they liked their privacy.

                Tom sat in the corner of the room next to Anise, listening to her as she spoke with Dmitri. He was feeling a little tired now, and just trying to stay aware of what the two were saying. Dmitri was speaking a little too quickly, his accent a little thick for Tom to properly decipher, and therein lay the problem. He picked out words here and there, but not much.

                Anise seemed to have no problem comprehending the man, but then again, Tom supposed she _had_ been around all of Evans' men before, and they had all been of varying nationalities, therefore speaking varying languages. He supposed it wasn't a problem for her as much as it was for him.

                When it finally became too much for him, he sighed, and started to lift himself from the floor, saying, "Excuse me. I think I'll just stretch my legs."

                "Are you all right?" Anise asked with concern in her tone, looking up at him curiously.

                Tom smiled and nodded. "I'm fine."

                With that, he offered a warm expression to Dmitri, who grinned at him, and then walked off to investigate. He was curious to see what there was in this place... and maybe find out where the Japanese - at least he guessed she was - woman had gone. She didn't seem too fond of him.

* * *

                Anise turned back to Dmitri, and smiled weakly, saying, "I think he is just tired. He has had quite a rough time lately."

                "And what do you mean by this?" Dmitri asked, leaning back on his hands behind him, knees bent up and his feet placed firmly on the floor, looking as relaxed as he always was. His dark eyes regarded her with an intrigued light, and he tilted his head to one side for emphasis.

                She shrugged lightly. "He... he has recently discovered his new DNA."

                "He is a werewolf?"

                Anise nodded. "Could you not smell him, Dmitri?" She was surprised that the Russian had not sensed it straight away. Normally, he was incredibly perceptive, almost instinctual about everything. 

                Dmitri smiled broadly, and leaned forward again, crossing his long legs in front of him, and sighing lightly. "Not everything is always so clear, Anise. You know this. It is not always like when we met."

                Anise remembered her first encounter with Dmitri. They had sensed each other from across the room on the boat, and followed each other's scents that night to meet. They had each known about the other's true identity, about their urges and instincts, and had seen to it that they satisfied their bestial curiousity. After a thorough silent examination of one another at a distance, they had taken to talking, and Anise had told him all about what had happened, cutting out the part about the betrayal, for arguments' sake. She did not want him to think her untrustworthy. He was becoming a close friend. She in turn knew very little about him, only that he had fled Russia when his own family had threatened to kill him for what he was. It seemed to bother Dmitri very little, surprisingly. Anise wondered whether he was hiding his true feelings about the matter... she had no doubt he was.

                She nodded to him, and said quietly, "He is not adjusting well, but... he has potential, Dmitri. We need to help him."

                Dmitri's smile waned like the daylight had hours before, and he considered the woman very seriously at length, and spoke quietly, "You care for him."

                Anise hung her head a little, her short hair in her face, and whispered, "Very much so."

                She felt Dmitri's hand on her arm, his large limb so gentle, and looked up into his eyes as he said, "Then we will help him, Anise."

* * *

                He found Lei Cheung in the room at the very rear of the house, and he heard the sounds of her practise from outside the door. The soft ringing of steel as the blade whipped through the air made him hesitate at the door, before he summoned his nerve, and opened it quietly. He stepped into the room.

                In the blink of an eye, she had him pinned up against the wall, the katana to his throat, her eyes locking with his in a silent threat, but a very real one. She was angry about the interruption.

                "I-" He stopped when the blade pressed a little tighter, and opened his clenched palms to show they were empty. He was not a threat to her. She regarded him with narrowed eyes, her expression cold and hard as she searched him with her gaze, before letting him away from the wall and sheathing the katana with skill and ease, sliding it back into the wooden scabbard at her left hip. She stood before him in her training outfit, and glared.

                "What are you doing?" she asked of him in a smooth but icy manner, her words slow and precise. 

                Tom was very careful in his response. He did not want to anger her again as he just had. "I was just looking around."

                "You should not sneak up on people." Lei turned from him, her dark hair still despite the motion, and picked up a dagger from the floor, toying with the blade before slotting it into her belt. She began to unwrap white cloth from around her palms, her eyes never leaving his face.

                "I wasn't sneaking... not intentionally anyway." Tom put his hands in his pockets, feeling a little sheepish all of a sudden. He felt like he'd just been caught with his hand in the sugar bowl. "Sorry." Her speed and stealth had been astounding... and frightening. Tom was suddenly glad she was an ally of Anise's, and not an enemy. The Japanese woman would have very easily killed him.

                Lei sighed, a delicate sound, and rolled her eyes. "Americans."

                Tom nearly laughed, smiling only slightly, before looking to her again. "I'm not the first one you've met then."

                "Unfortunately," she grumbled, and folded the cloth carefully and neatly without the aid of a flat surface with which to do so. She was still looking at him. "Why are you here?"

                "I..." Tom realised he didn't know, and carefully, cautiously, he took a step away from the wall. "I don't really know myself." He smiled experimentally, seeing if she would return the expression. She did not, just continued to stare for a moment, before she turned away from him and paced over to the window. She peered out of it briefly, and turned back, narrowing her eyes.

                "You have come to a place you do not know," she began slowly, "with a woman you do not know... to _people_ you do not know." She paused, and lifted her brows. "Some would call you a fool."

                Tom nodded at that, and then quickly corrected, "But I do know Anise... at least I think I did... do."

                Again, Lei narrowed her eyes. "Americans are difficult to understand."

                "So it would seem," he muttered. 

                Suddenly, something exploded through the very window Lei had peered out of, and Tom instinctively covered his head for protection as glass was scattered in all directions. Looking out from under his arms, he saw Lei had rolled away, and she was staring reproachfully at the opening as if the window itself were to blame. She had her hand on her katana hilt, waiting with paused breath before distant shouts could be heard.

                Tom jogged to the window, flattening his back against the wall next to it, his boots crunching on the broken glass all over the floor. He risked a glance out of the window, and saw them. There was a crowd of people on the hill surrounding the building, and he noticed one or two at the front lift something to the sky, each with a similar object in their hands, pulling back...

                Tom widened his eyes, and yelled to Lei, "Get down!" He pulled his head from the window.

                That was when a flaming arrow shot through the window, catching on the practise mat on the floor and igniting it instantly. Lei had taken his advice and indeed ducked down, but now looked up in fury, an angry light in her eyes as she glared out the window.

                "C'mon!" Tom called to her, "We've gotta get out of here." He ran for the door, with Lei behind him. She grabbed up a long satchel-type bag from the floor near the door before doing so, and worked on unfastening her katana from her belt. Tom did not question her motions as he tried to remember where he had left Anise and Dmitri. Lei slipped the katana into the long bag, and dropped her dagger inside. She pulled on the cords of the bag, and tied them briskly, hooking the satchel over her head and shoulder, tightening it a little so that it was secure.

                Lei overtook him, and darted down an adjoining corridor, and burst into the very room where Tom had left the others. They were on their feet, looking around wildly. Dmitri's smile was gone, even as he moved over to Lei and Tom.

                "What is happening?" he asked gruffly.

                "Your little hideout is under attack," Tom informed him bluntly, glancing to Anise. "We're surrounded."

                Anise, wide-eyed, looked to the other two, and opened her mouth to speak. She hesitated when the sound of more smashing glass reached their ears, and she whirled on Tom.

                "I know you hate it," she began hurriedly, her accent making it difficult to decipher her tone, "but you have no choice. It is our only option for escape."

                "What? No, there must be another way. Why are they attacking at all?"

                "They clearly do not wish to lose anymore livestock," Lei cut in blankly, raising a brow as if it mattered very little. She spoke as if they weren't being assaulted from all sides.

                "Tom!" Anise snapped, taking a hold of his bottom jaw and turning his head roughly back to her. "Do it, _now_!"

                "Can't you talk to them?" he retorted, and pulled his head from her grasp, looking at her as one would a stranger who acted irrationally.

                Dmitri had fallen very silent, and closed his eyes. Tom ignored the odd behaviour.

                Tom felt Anise grab him, and kiss him quickly, before shoving him back, and almost toppling him. When she yelled at him, her voice was distorted; "Do it!" Her eyes were a feral yellow now, and she was growling.

                Tom stared at her, and shook his head. He had already given in to the change once, and he had despised it. He had nearly been sick to his stomach. 

                Anise walked right up to him, and - much to Tom's surprise - punched him so hard he though he saw colours swim in his vision. He reeled from the blow, and looked back at her suddenly, not at all surprised when a loud growl emanated from his own throat.

                "That's better," she whispered harshly, and started to contort.

                "You are full of surprises," Lei said bluntly to Anise, and glanced once more to Tom.

                Tom took a step back at the woman's appearance. Her hair was shrinking back into her skull, and she was glaring now with amber oculi, blinking once before craning her neck as bones snapped.

                A snarl drew his attention to Dmitri, who arched his back as his spine reformed loudly, a sickening sound as his ribcage began to expand with horrible cracks and hollow snapping sounds.

                Tom closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the shouting escalating into a frightening cacophony outside, before he cursed lightly, and ripped the fabric of his shirt, the buttons coming loose with the strength he exhibited in doing so. He pulled the shirt off, and was surprised to find that Lei tossed the bag at him. Hesitating for only a moment, he shoved the clothing inside, and kicked off his boots before doing the same with those. Lei snatched the bag back from him, and retied it, slipping it on quickly, before dropping to her knees and curling up with a howl of discomfort... or possibly excitement. There was an undertone that was hard to ignore, and when her face raised again, her features starting to stretch, he could have sworn she was smiling. Her legs started to twist and shorten, whereas her arms did quite the reverse, stretching and lengthening considerably. Her hands and feet morphed and cracked, her fingers and toes contorting and extending, claws pushing through from the nails. Her ankles snapped and twisted, bending backwards to become almost like a second knee joint. Her chest broadened and widened, her ribs quietly reshaping themselves, the entire cavity deepening as a low growl rumbled forth from her thick throat. Her face lengthened into a head of a gnarled dog, her maw opening wide as long canines pushed forth from her gums, and her long pink tongue licked at her jowls almost hungrily. Her ears reshaped only slightly to become vaguely pointed, and her eyes became more narrowed, almost sunken in and shaded. Hair bristled from the top of her head, down her neck and along her spine under the tattered remains of her blouse. Her arms were tufted with fur now as well, and Tom guessed it was the same with her legs, which were still covered in her pants. She dropped to all fours, the satchel now tight around her torso, and shook as if stepping from a bath, stretching and letting her limbs crack.

                Tom turned his attention to Dmitri, who was much more silent during his own transformation. The man had clearly gone through the change many times, and was accustomed to the pains of such an act. He was growing taller, if it was possible. His legs twisted back, and then forward, his knees broadening and cartilage snapping as it changed shape to accommodate for the extra weight. His feet widened and became more wolf-like, long and clawed, padded and large. His hands stretched into eerie fingers with a huge palm, talons breaking from the tips, black claws like knives. His neck tripled in size, his jugular a good deal wider than before, a protected throat, even as his ribs broke in unison and expanded to create a mighty cavernous chest. His shoulders broadened intimidatingly, and his head turned upward as it began to morph and reform. His face extended, and his skin darkened like a wave taking over his body. The nose and jaws of the wolf became evident, and he barked out a growl, a threatening, grumbling sound of displeasure. His eyes became black slits in the skull, and long hairless ears flattened back across his head as he brought his face down to observe the others, apparently very comfortable on his hind legs. The only hair visible was running like a striped marking from the middle of his skull, between his ears, and down his back. Other than that, it was simply bulging muscle and dark skin evident.

                Anise was mostly transformed, the hair pushing forth from her pores and covering her head to toe as her face finished its reshaping. Her lips curled in a snarl, and she flexed her paws, the claws scratching the floor, and she looked up at Tom with yellow, lidded pupils. Her knees had cracked backwards, her blouse hanging in tatters from her reformed chest and abdomen, and she crouched low with impatience.

                Closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath, Tom called on the change.

* * *

                Mina paced through the Nautilus, listening to Quatermain ramble on behind her. He really was starting to give her a headache, and quite an impressive one at that. He had done nothing but complain since she had explained everything to him, demanding why they had even welcomed the woman in the first place - which Mina had informed him she had in fact been far from doing at all - and why they had just let Tom leave.

                "I did _not_ simply let him leave. He needed time to deal with his new existence, and that is all I allowed him." She did not turn back, on her way to the stateroom in order to get herself a glass of water or something else similar in order to soothe her throat, a little sore from all the explanation. The others had kindly let her take the mantle in the telling, and had remained quite quiet. Skinner actually looked guilty, as though he had done someone a great wrong. Mina had ignored it.

                "We should go after him. What if something happens?" Quatermain demanded next, right behind Mina as she pushed through the double doors before the crewmen could even allow her entry themselves. She was in no mood for formality.

                "And how do you suggest we find him, Mr. Q.?" she asked heatedly, whirling on him so that her skirts turned around her ankles smoothly. "We can't very well go gallivanting around Scotland in the hopes we'll simply _stumble_ across the two of them!"

                "No," Nemo interrupted, stepping away from a crewman who had just arrived to tell him something; something that seemed of importance. "We could simply follow the angry crowd of locals."

                Mina and Quatermain forgot their debate almost at once, and turned to face the captain, along with Jekyll and Skinner, all puzzled as to what he meant.

                As he informed them of the angry crowd converging on one spot in the woods where it was believed monsters lived, Mina brightened as the prospects of their finding Tom increased rapidly. She had not said that she was worried, but had known deep in her being that Tom could get into trouble very easily with his new unstable DNA. He could barely control the change on the ship... let alone beyond it.

                "There you are, Mr. Quatermain... satisfied?" With a wry smile, she left the room to fetch her coat.

* * *

                Deep in the belly of the large federate building, many men converged around a table, jackets of formality cast off as they leaned in a very business-like fashion over the data strewn across the table. Test results and diagrams were the majority, but there were also communiqués and records from informants all over the country, and a few from global positions within their chain. 

                When the door was thrown open and a very sombre man walked in, they all raised their heads, looking cautiously to the man as he strode over. From the look on his face, they expected bad news... the last thing they expected was for him to toss a file onto the table amidst the papers, and declare, "We've got another one."

                The businessmen glanced in unison to Sebastian Woods. He was in command of the operation, and had a good head on his shoulders; filled with the kind of intelligence they needed for the success they strived for. He was approaching fifty now, but still in - what he liked to call - his prime. He was a strong, clever man who had had a shining career in the American Government... despite his recent shadowy, somewhat undercover activities. He had receding, greying brown hair that was combed back neatly, and grey eyes alight with intrigue.

                The other men looked down at the recently acquired file, and one by the name of Edmunds said, "Another one?"

                "Yes," replied Sebastian, nodding briefly, before neatening his tie, and tightening the knot. He seated himself in the leather chair at the head, and leaned back casually, hands folding on his lap, elbows on the armrests as he looked proudly at the stars and stripes of the American flag on the far wall.

                The operation had been in the works for nearly a year, and progress was too slow as of late for the last acquisition. Now that this file had come into his possession, Sebastian had a feeling that things would speed up immensely. He even had his specialists working on the collection. It would not be long, if all went to plan... and he didn't see any reason why it shouldn't.

                Edmunds picked up the file tentatively, and flicked it open, looking to Sebastian at once with an eager expression. "You've found a final subject?"

                Sebastian held up a finger, and said, "Only final for the moment. When they are integrated, and the test carried out, if it is possible to expand the operation, then we will do so... but not until we know how well the unit operates."

                "The three we have right now work fine," another said, this one by the title of Higgins. He was quite possibly the youngest in the room, at thirty, all prim and neat... overly so in fact. Sebastian would have to tell him to ease up on the formalities a little. 

                "Yes they do," he agreed, standing from the chair and striding to reclaim the file from the inquisitive Edmunds, taking it out of his hand without even asking. He was in charge after all... Edmunds let go without hesitation, and they all watched as he strode to the board with their findings on it. Three columns of data were attached, three photos heading it all. Underneath the black and white photographs themselves were single words... codenames in fact.

                The first photo, shockingly, was of a redheaded woman - though you could not tell this from the photo itself - with a fiery expression of determination, looking off at something to the left that clearly interested her. She was tall and lithe, but strong nevertheless. _Falx_... 'blade'.

                The second was a neat man of roughly six feet, with dark hair and the eyes to match, a long, angular face, with a hard expression. He was wearing a suit in the photo, his hair combed to one side rather plainly. His look said it all. He was all business. _Gladius_... 'sword'.

                The final photo - at least at the moment - was of the youngest member as of late. He was in his mid-twenties, with curled black hair to his brow, ears and neck in varying degrees around his youthful features. His eyes were bright with intelligence and enthusiasm. He was the newest recruit to date, but had settled in just as well as the first two, if not better... his age and zeal had proven to be his strongest points. _Lacertus_... 'strength'.

                Sebastian turned to his fellows, and nodded to the table. "The results?"

                "Everything is going smoothly," Edmunds reported briskly. "No problems to report. The subjects are performing at peak efficiency, and we have met no resistance in their obedience."

                "Excellent," Sebastian said bluntly with a smile, and turned back to the board, removing the last photo from the file and attaching it quickly to the board, smoothing it out with his palm before stepping back and regarding it with the others. 

                The last of the four was close in age to Lacertus, though with blonde hair, and the enthusiasm seemed lost from his face, replaced with a nobility and valour beyond his years. Resting back on his shoulder was a rifle, and he was speaking to someone off frame, to his right, oblivious to the photographer at all. Below the photo was the intended codename. _Exuro_... 'burn'. 

                The team was almost complete...

* * *

                "How can you be sure it is in this direction?" Jekyll asked from the rear of the group, waiting until the opportune moment until he drank the formula. He wasn't even certain it would be needed as of yet. He wanted to wait until this was evident before letting Hyde out at all.

                Mina did not turn back as she replied, "Because I can smell the fire."

                "Fire?" Skinner squeaked, and faltered slightly in his stride, the coat and trilby floating hesitantly before Quatermain gave him a nudge.

                "C'mon, Skinner, no time to back out now," the hunter informed him, holding the elephant gun Tom Sawyer had been keeping hold of, the rifle in his right hand firmly. It was loaded, and the man had spare rounds in his waistcoat in case trouble arose... and Henry had a feeling it would.

                He could hear the distant shouting off in the woods as they entered the tree line, the five of them pushing through the foliage and growth carefully but at a swift pace. The doctor understood Skinner's hesitation, from the conclusion of the mission in Mongolia in the battle against Moriarty, where the invisible man had sustained terrible burns from an armoured flame-throwing figure. His fear was comprehensible.

                Nevertheless, they might need all hands on deck for this one, if Tom and Miss Delacroix were in trouble. 

                The distant shouting of words like 'murderer' was certainly not comforting. Henry had a bad feeling.

* * *

                The four werewolves burst from the front door, one leaping from one of the shattered windows with a satchel hanging around its frame firmly, and the small pack snarled and bellowed angrily. The locals backed away instinctively at the horrifying sight of the collection of beasts.  

                The four were very differing in appearance. The first was a towering, almost hairless mass of muscle and bone, its short maw open wide in a bestial roar of anger and irritation at the nerve of the crowd, glaring with black, inky eyes. The second was the one that had leapt through the shattered window, the smallest of the four with rippling spine and bristly hair, a squat head full of snarls and cruel fangs, with amber, narrowed, sunken in eyes. The third was the lighter is colour, with tan fur sprouting from all over its bulk, down on all fours like the smallest of the group, long lupine head arched in an eerie manner to take in the threat with yellow slitted eyes. The final one stepped through the doorway, and let out a holler of animalistic fury, looming on its hind legs like the first, covered in coarse black hair from head to toe, with tall ears, and huge limbs, its silver eyes glinting in the moonlight. 

                The four stared around at the intruders, daring any of them to act out, when finally one man was brave enough to yell, "That's them! Kill them all! Murderers!"

                The four lycanthropes let out growls and snarls as the words settled into the feral minds and registered as a threat. As a unit, they charged towards the fence. The smallest - Lei - with the satchel, scaled the wire enclosure with breathtaking ease.  The one with the least hair - Dmitri - tore _through_ the fence with his claws, shredding the wire as if it were paper, and charging right through the hole. The third, with its tan shaggy hair - Anise - took to digging under the fence, and wriggling through with a quick twist of its body, and scurrying out the other side in as little as twenty seconds, and without hurting itself. The last to leave the enclosure, after sniffing the air and glancing around, was the huge black-haired werewolf - Tom - that took it upon itself to crash bodily into the gate, which was slammed off its hinges and sent useless to the floor in a heap of wire and frame. The small pack charged up the hill, panting and bellowing until the humans moved out of the way, screaming and shrieking for fear of being attacked or ripped apart by the monsters.

                The humans scattered, leaping in all directions as the werewolves bounded right on past them, even as a few of the humans fired on them, a couple with hunting rifles, and one or two with the bows and arrows they had used before. The werewolves took note that some of the humans carried flaming torches, and instinctively shied away from the fire and the heat.

                They charged through the trees, travelling as a tight unit for the first few minutes, before Lei used her powerful back legs to spring agilely up _into_ the trees, and leaping from one to the next gracefully. Dmitri weaved in and out of the trunks to make himself a difficult target, and he grunted as he pumped his hind legs to run, staying up on two limbs in travel. He ducked under low hanging branches, and leapt roots and fallen logs with ease.

                The last two, Tom and Anise, travelled side by side in their flight from the angry crowd, who gave chase - albeit rather slowly compared to the creatures themselves - both down on all fours now to ease their journey. They crushed dead leaves underfoot, and sprung bodily over obstructions, glancing to their side and over their heads to check on their companions. Lei and Dmitri were never far away. 

                The wolf that was Tom caught a familiar scent on the wind, and howled a brief signal to the others, despite their only recent acquaintance. They made sharp signals in return, and followed him as he suddenly changed direction to follow the somewhat reassuring smell. 

                Little did they know that they were being trailed, and not only by the human crowd of angered locals sick of having their livestock slaughtered by 'monsters'... in the shadows, three eerie, haunting pairs of lidded eyes watched, and waited for the opportune moment to pounce.

                The hunt was on...


	11. Soldiers

**Author's Note: **Time to say hello to our villain subordinates. You can find their biographies at my site under the appropriate section at so just pop down and have a look if you're curious… and if you haven't already. Also, all three of the werewolf forms will be explained on there as well. In fact, the area is pretty much finished ^_^ Go me! Well… not really. Lol. Enjoy! Ugh… got terrible writer's block on this chapter. Sorry!

**Sethoz: **'Burn' just seemed to fit dear, fiery Thomas. I hope you all agree. Anywho, yes… it would appear it is brainwashing, wouldn't it ^_~ 

**drowchild: **The story would have hit a rut if I'd had my guys captured there, wouldn't it? But you can't be sure until you've read this chapter, can you.

**RogueSparrow: **Whoo! Hardcore!

**LotRseer3350:** Ack! Pomeranian!

**Rayne: **Yes, Dmitri is quite nice for a great big brick of a guy, isn't he?

**Beck2: **Well if Dmitri reminds you of Raze because of his werewolf form… then that is excellent news. But otherwise… fair enough.

**Graymoon74: **Oh, how your reviews make me smile ^_^

**Raven: **Did you kill your keyboard writing that out? Lol! Artful? My heartfelt thanks. It wasn't actually Allan's line at all, and I hadn't realised until you said actually… how dense of me. Falx is pronounced (I'm assuming) kind alike the utensil – forks. Except for the Americans out there… okay, remember the bird in Harry Potter 2? The phoenix… like that. Gimme a chance with Dmitri and Lei ^_^ They only just entered the scene, lol. They'll get more 'screen' time soon. Thanks very much!

* * *

                The three pushed their way out of the trees, stealthy and silent beyond belief, their lupine forms hidden in shadow and undergrowth as they crouched down low in predator-like anticipation. Their growls were muted in need for covertness, as they strode in formation across the ground, their pacing gentle on the dead leaves so that the noise was slight. The form in the middle was bipedal, looming and almost gangly in the way its limbs appeared too thin for its wide chest. It was covered finely in long coarse hair, stretching from its head and neck, to its shoulders, and across its limbs and even down its back. It had a long canine head, with almost tufted squat ears. It had eyes of coal, and short but treacherous fangs in its feral maw. Its 'hands' could more or less be mistaken for human, it if weren't for the slight extension and the claws at each fingertip.

                The werewolves on either side were similar; both travelling on all fours, though the one on the left was slightly larger, with lighter – and much more generous – hair than the one on the right. It also had a more bestial demeanour, carrying itself in a very predatory manner. Its shoulder blades pushed up and down like a tiger as it paced slowly and cautiously over the foliage, staying level with the upright wolf. Its yellow eyes blinked slowly, and its jowls curled up in a silent snarl as it sniffed the air to keep track of their quarry. It had lean paws, tipped with fine claws, built for shredding, same as the fangs were for tearing and killing. 

                The third and final of the wolves was the smaller, but it was designed for the hunt. It was muscular and agile, sinewy limbs moving it effortlessly over the undergrowth on their trail. Like the second wolf, this one had yellow eyes, though they were far more human than anything else. They carried a glint of something hidden, almost like mischief or anticipation. The muzzle was short in comparison to the first, upright werewolf, and its fine, sharp teeth clacked together in enthusiasm. It knew to wait though. The price for over-enthusiasm would be high if the operation were ruined. It had darker hair than the others, bristling across its skull above small rounded ears, and down its back, spreading thinly over its four limbs.

                Even for werewolves, these three bore a frightening intelligence. They were perfectly aware of their actions... what it was that was expected of them, and the price to pay for failure. They feared this… they were not careless. They knew their mission, and worked as a unit to fulfil it, by whatever means necessary. 

                The central wolf let a snarl leak forward from its jaws, glancing half-heartedly to the approaching 'mob', and bolted forward after their target, the other two chasing along beside it, their pace matching perfectly. 

* * *

                Mina turned and stopped at once as a slight snapping sound carried to her on the breeze, drifting on the wind to her ears, and she almost smiled. She _knew _that smell... she had grown accustomed to it... though it might take quite a while to grow familiar with the new supernatural edge it carried.

                "What is it?" Quatermain asked of her, coming up beside her with his elephant gun – fondly named Matilda, something Mina found tedious – in his hand. "What do you sense?"

                "Sawyer," was all she said, and nodded.

                Even as she motioned, the large black werewolf charged out of the trees, slowing to a halt and regarding them with silver oculi, before giving a shake and transforming with shocking speed. It stood up on its hind legs as it did so, and Tom Sawyer moved towards them in the matter of two minutes, seemingly unfazed by the shift. Mina stared with wide eyes.

                "What…?" Tom panted, looking over his shoulder, and then at himself. "Look, sorry I-"

                "Did that not pain you, Agent Sawyer?" Mina breathed, still in disbelief as to the absence of discomfort he showed.

                "What… oh…" He furrowed his brow, and touched a hand tentatively to his stomach as if checking he was indeed in human form. "I guess not…" He allowed a ghost of a smile to come to his lips, a rather forced one as he added, "Adrenaline, maybe." Then he turned to look back into the trees.

                A tan-coloured werewolf whose scent was slightly familiar crept forward, and shifted into human form, clinging the tatters of their clothing around them, even as Dr. Jekyll shrugged off his black jacket, and passed it to Anise. She accepted it gratefully, and slipped it around her frame, fastening the buttons for concealment. 

                A third form – much to the surprise of the _League_ – paced from the trees, towering and near on hairless, save for a spinal ridge of fur, which quickly drew back into the skin that lightened as the body shrunk slightly, the chest withdrawing and reforming noisily, and a large muscular man was soon in its place.

                And finally, out of the very trees, leapt the final werewolf, small, strapping and yet lithe. It carried across his torso a kind of leather satchel, fastened tightly. The body started to reshape itself in midair, and Mina watched with dropped jaw as the body of a woman took precedence over the form of the wolf, and before long, she was rolling into a crouch by Anise's right side, and glancing to the _League_ guardedly, warily.

                The distant shouts of the angry crowd could be heard. 

                "We were being followed," the new man said, and Mina deciphered his accent as Russian. It was smooth, but carried the familiar rough edge that she had heard from many of his countrymen in the past. His nationality could very well explain his bulk. He was looking pointedly at the other three werewolves.

                Quatermain removed his coat, and handed it tentatively to the oriental woman. Mina would have guessed she was Japanese. She was short, but by no means did that indicate she was weak. She was, after all, a lycanthrope. She accepted the coat, staring at the floating trilby and jacket next to the hunter with a raised brow, before she removed the satchel, which Anise took from her whilst she donned the coat. It dragged slightly on the floor, and Mina smiled slightly despite her better judgement.

                "Yeah," Tom replied to the Russian, still a little breathless from the sounds of it. Needless to say, it was obvious they had been fleeing from the locals. "We saw the mob."

                The large man shook his head once, and explained, "This was not human. It was werewolf scent. They were behind us… in pursuit."

                Tom glanced to Anise, and then to the _League_. The four werewolves were clearly tired, worn after their flight from the angry villagers. Mina could see – and sense – that they needed rest and a chance to recuperate.

                "Go… to the Nautilus," she told them briskly, looking Tom directly in the eye pointedly. He hesitated for only a moment, before nodding once, and taking off at a jog, Anise in pursuit instantly. A little reluctantly at first, the two others chased on after them in human form.

                Once they were gone, Mina turned on Dr. Jekyll and gave him a look he knew well. He sighed lightly, and reached into his back trouser pocket, drawing out his formula and removing the stopper. He hesitated, and then downed the contents. He started to change at once, a transformation that somehow seemed more abrupt and vicious than that of Agent Sawyer into his lupine counterpart. With sharp twists and turns, bulging and expanding, Mr. Edward Hyde exploded into view within a matter of seconds, stretching as though thankful to be out of his inner subconscious confines of Jekyll. 

                "What now?" he grumbled, as if aggravated by the interruption and his being called upon, which Mina knew the brute accepted willingly. Any chance to break from his cell inside Jekyll never went unappreciated… if Hyde could _feel_ appreciation. She looked up at him with blue eyes, raising an eyebrow, even as she thought she heard a growl.

                "There is little time to waste, Mr. Hyde," she revealed briskly, looking to the others, "but we are being approached by werewolves. They must be stopped at all costs."

                "What for? Aren't _they _beasts like that as well?" He motioned off to where Tom and the others had retreated.

                Mina glared. "This is different. Now, either you will help, or-"

                "All right, all right," he grumbled, and grunted as he turned back to prepare for the threat.

                "We must split up and lead them astray," Mina declared, suddenly grateful for the initiative she had shown in bringing her daggers along. She had come primed for confrontation… though she could not tell why. "Skinner, Quatermain, you will come with me. We will lead them along the woods in this direction."

                They nodded, the hunter a little more reluctantly than their invisible companion. Nevertheless, they stood ready.

                "Hyde, you and Nemo will head in the opposite direction. Whatever you do, do _not_ let them follow the trail of Agent Sawyer and the others. Understood?"

                Hyde nodded gruffly, and Nemo bowed his head halfway to show he comprehended, before the _League_ separated to head off on their separate endeavours. Mina led the way off along the other end of the tree line, and she could hear the swift approach. Suddenly she stopped, Skinner almost crashing into her from behind.

                "Hyde!" she called, and saw the beast turn to regard her. "You must distract them to follow, or they will chase the scent!" The alter ego nodded, and waited. Mina looked to Quatermain and Skinner. "I will do the same. The two of you will carry on in this direction. They are fast, but I will be able to escape them easily. Go." The swift approach was getting louder… they were running out of time.

                Quatermain opened his mouth to protest, only to have Mina practically snap at him as she hissed, "Go!"

                With that, the hunter and the thief turned and ran as fast as their legs would carry them on the trail Mina had chosen. She waited… with Hyde standing in a mirrored position some thirty feet down the edge of the woods from her, looming and impatient. He shifted on his feet, and tensed his muscles in anticipation of what was to come. The beast knew what he was up against, and was aware of the need for caution. 

                That was when they burst from the trees in a tightly formed unit, three werewolves poised to pounce. They looked left and right, setting their feral eyes on the targets presented. Mina arched an eyebrow and smiled slightly, lifting a hand in a mocking wave to them.

                The creature in the middle was bipedal, the tallest of the three… that was, until the other two threw themselves up onto their hind legs, and they bellowed in unison. The two outer wolves were similar, though one was slightly smaller and darker in colour, and the muzzle was shorter… not quite so obviously canine. 

                The wolf in the middle turned its head to the smallest of the three, and growled at it. It sunk down onto all fours, and started to creep eerily towards Mina.

                _That's it… just a little closer…_ she thought patiently, watching it approach, crouched low as it paced bestially forward, its lips curled in a silent snarl of a threat. 

                They seemed to know they had lost their quarry… whatever that may be. Mina was certain it was the other werewolves, though the exact identity was lost to her. She cared little, so long as they were stopped. She saw with her spare attention that the other two werewolves started to move towards Hyde. A grin spread on the face of Jekyll's alter ego as he waited eagerly for the challenge.

                The werewolf approaching Mina crept right up in front of her, and rose up halfway onto its hind legs, growling in a feral manner, almost inquisitive. She looked straight into its yellow eyes, a trace of the human underneath still visible in the oculi, and she cocked her head. It returned the motion, before opening its maw in a loud growl, saliva dripping from its vicious fangs.

                With lightning speed, Mina delivered a hard blow to its head with the heel of her boot, cursing her skirts, and shouted to Hyde as the beast recuperated, "Go! Now!"

                Hyde turned and bolted off after Nemo on the chosen route, the two werewolves in hot pursuit. Mina did the same in the opposite direction, hearing the roar of the wolf she had struck as it dropped to all fours and began to gallop after her. She resorted to her bats after a few feet, knowing they would carry her faster, and also most probably intrigue the monster long enough to keep it behind her. Sure enough, when she glanced behind her, the wolf was still there, flat out in the chase, limbs reaching back and forth rhythmically in a swift run. 

                She could smell Quatermain and Skinner, and knew she was gaining on them. Damn, they weren't going fast enough! The wolf would be upon them soon if it caught their scents and strayed from his path behind Mina.

                She knew it was male… she could sense it. It was, in it's other form, most definitely a man. Regardless of this, it would be no less strong if it were female. Werewolves were brutal, vicious and physically powerful. Its prowess was shown in the ease it displayed as it gave pursuit, in the lack of exhaustion it displayed, even as it leapt at her, snarling furiously.

                Mina rose into the air on the wings of her bats just in time to avoid the vicious claws and teeth, and felt the air brush past her skirts as she was lifted clear. 

                And she saw her companions, fleeing off _into_ the neighbouring village! What did they think they would accomplish? 

                _Ridiculous!_ Mina thought, angry, and swooped down to catch the werewolf's attention again before leading it after Quatermain… and his gun. It would not kill the beast, but it would certainly wound it enough to take it out of action in time for their escape.

* * *

                Hyde charged along the tree line, hearing the swift pursuit of the creatures behind him, and soon came up behind Nemo just before they reached a barn.

                "Quickly!" Nemo urged, "Inside!"

                The two entered the abandoned barn, and Hyde closed the doors behind them with a creak and a slam. The two stepped back from the barricade after Hyde slid the large bar in front of the doorway, a beam of wood blocking all entry from the outside. Nemo gripped the hilt of his ornate sword, and it clattered against the scabbard.

                Hyde grunted in anticipation, even as the first crash landed heavily against the doors, and they wobbled dangerously against their hinges, creaking ominously and dislodging dust from the ceiling. There was the sound of vicious snarling from the other side of the barricade, and then another slam, and another, before the two beasts started to work in unison, and smashed right through the doors in a splintering of wood and horrific bellows of fury and inner triumph at their slight advance. 

                One was upright, very human in shape but not in appearance, all lengthened muzzle and straggly hair, lips curled in a snarl. The other was dropping down onto all fours, grumbling threateningly in a reinforced throat, covered in thick, shaggy hair down over its body. They advanced together, their strides in simultaneous pace with one another, like soldiers.

                Hyde moved forward in a challenge, one that the beasts seemingly understood, and the four-legged monster leapt. Hyde swung his arm out like a club, and swatted it away, careful to avoid to teeth and claws at all costs. The werewolf was knocked aside with a slight yelp, and it crashed into a dilapidated cart, shattering it with its mass. The second werewolf lunged at Nemo during the distraction, but the Indian lashed out with his sword, catching it across the arm that it rose to strike with. 

                It made no sound to show its discomfort as it lashed out with the other arm, catching the captain in the chest and sending him flying backwards over a barrel. When he had landed, he did not rise again, and Hyde grumbled in irritation at his companion being incapacitated, and so easily it seemed. He turned his head back around to face his opponents, and saw the four-legged beast had regained its footing, and was now pressing forth, shoulder blades arching threateningly, jaws open wide with saliva oozing from between its teeth. Hyde sneered.

                Roaring at them in a challenge, he pressed forward, and as one, they pounced.

* * *

                Allan glanced over his shoulder and saw the flurry of the bats as they pressed towards him and Skinner, who was more than slightly out of breath. He cocked the elephant gun, and lowered the barrel toward the form he knew to be behind the vampire. She saw the weapon, and suddenly soared upwards, even as the bullet exploded out of the gun with a deafening crack like thunder.

                The hunter watched in dismay as the werewolf had leapt upwards to avoid the projectile at almost the same time as Harker, and averted wounding. It landed athletically on all fours, forelimbs first, and charged, bellowing, towards them. Skinner gave a yelp, and darted off to the left into an alley. Allan saw fit to confuse the beast by dividing its attention, and so let off his next shot, grazing the animal's hindquarters and sped off as fast as he could manage to his right. 

                It gave a roar, and Allan turned back when he heard the sound fade, and realised it was not behind him… blast! It had gone after Skinner!

                "Dammit…"

* * *

                He ran as fast as his bare feet would carry him, and panted with the exertion, hearing the horrifying sound behind him. He gave a muttering of a gasped curse, and scrambled over a fallen bin, hoping it would provide some sort of obstacle. He knew he was wrong when he heard the stealthy padding speeding up behind him, accompanied by the feral snarling of eager pursuit.

                _Oh for crying out loud, leave me alone!_ Skinner let his mind run with possibilities, until he almost cursed aloud at his stupidity, reaching up with both intangible hands and snatching at the lapels of his jacket, tearing it free of his body and tossing it aside as quickly as he could. He pulled his trilby from his head, and let it spin off into the darkness, hoping beyond hope that the invisibility would give him some sort of edge in the chase.

                Skinner could still hear the pursuer, but it seemed they had slowed somewhat, as if confused by the sudden disappearance. Skinner resisted a chuckle, and reminded himself to just keep running until he ran out of land or luck.

* * *

                Soaring high above the lazy rooftops, she let her otherworldly bats swirl around her, and growled at the sight below her. Mina could see the galloping werewolf, and knew instantly that it was chasing Skinner. Her heightened senses helped her to pick out from her height the form of Quatermain chasing off in the same direction, loading his rifle at the same time to try and lend a hand. 

                He wasn't running fast enough however, and before long, the wolf would have its teeth and claws sunken into the invisible thief extraordinaire if someone didn't – literally – swoop in to the rescue. Raising a brow, even as her bats swarmed and chattered around her, she commanded them to lower her, her power over them making her descent swift and precise. 

                Before long she was swooping in over the alley like a ghostly apparition. 

* * *

                Yellow eyes narrowed in enthusiasm and anticipation, maw open slightly as it panted lightly with the chase, and the beast gave a light snarl and a shudder as it leapt over another obstacle. Its padded feet carried it easily, and the werewolf gave a chattering noise of eagerness. 

                Lacertus pumped his limbs in pursuit, and sensed that he was closing in on the concealed prey. He could smell them; vaguely see a blurred outline with his supernatural vision. Giving an echoing roar, he caught the other scent, and twisted his head and neck to see the monstrosity bearing down on him. Unfortunately for him, his speed failed him, and he was barrelled right off his feet and sent tumbling into a heap, bristling with rage at the indecency of the interruption the thing had seen fit to provide.

                Rising to all fours, he arched his powerful spine, letting his hackles rise just slightly to show his fury, and curled his snout in feverous anger. His eyes narrowed, shortly before he heard the deafening boom, and felt the searing pain.

* * *

                "Is that all you've got?" Hyde asked mockingly, thoroughly enjoying himself… but he had to admit, these wolves were far more cunning than the ones Evans had had in his employ. These ones were smart, stealthy and swift. He didn't like that aspect at all, but all three combatants appeared to be tiring. The two werewolves' chests were heaving, and the bipedal creature was bleeding from a slight wounding to the arm from Nemo's sword. The other favoured one leg slightly.

                Just as Hyde was about to press forward again for another round, the two wolves turned their heads to the door, and froze, poised predatorily, before, with a twin snarl, they bolted out of the broken opening, the alter ego of Jekyll's looking on in disappointment. 

                Pacing out of the door, he raised a brow curiously, and then turned his head back at the sound of someone scrambling to their feet, probably with as much of their pride as they could muster. It was Captain Nemo, sword in his hand, reclaimed after his brief visit into unconsciousness.

                Rolling his eyes, Hyde pressed on out of the gap, and moved off to find the others. He wondered why the werewolves had departed so suddenly… it seemed unfair – to Hyde at least – that they abandon a fight like that. He had been enjoying himself, something he wasn't allowed to indulge in too often… sulking slightly, he heard Nemo come up behind him.

                Together, the two walked over the grass away from the ruined barn in search of the rest of the _League._

* * *

**A/N2: **Ugh… how much did this suck? I'm truly, truly sorry… you will get more action in chapters to come, and though Hyde's 'fight' seemed rather abrupt, I made it like that on purpose. Couldn't very well have him killing two of the cronies now could I? See you next update ^_~


	12. In Arms

**Author's Note:** Ugh… life getting busy! Don't like it! Yeah, so if you read _Shadow Games_ as well, you'll know my superior quit, so now – though I don't actually have her job – I do have her hours. 10-4ish every day, five days a week… that means lots of money, but I'm (a wuss) two days in, and I'm knackered, after seeing 'School of Rock' (funny, btw, and not really the right material to follow this with, lol) and I'm feeling rather sleepy, but I thought I'd give it a go anyway. So here's hoping you enjoy *crosses fingers, and gets them stuck* Oh dear… this took me a few days too *sigh* But my sister came down for my birthday (which is next week) and she bought me LXG on DVD! WOOHOO! *does a groovy happy dance*

**RogueSparrow: **I'm glad you liked Chapter 11. Thank you kindly. Hope you get your comp fixed soon. I miss you!

**angelic katty: ***waves 'Go _League_' flag, and hands you one*

**Raven Silvers: **Glad you're intrigued. That's comforting to hear. I had – sadly – intended for the Hyde/werewolves part to be longer, but I think I'll save some of that action for later, eh? Everybody needs a laugh, and who better to provide it then Skinner? Lol.

**Sethoz: **Happy you agree with me in regards to 'Burn'. The easy change from Tom was a whim… spur of the moment, and it kinda wrote itself. Glad you weren't concerned by that, lol. And, argh, I missed you again today! I'm sorry!

**Niani: **Wow… neat little review. Thanks!

**drowchild: **Hehehehe, hope you had a good vacation, and glad you liked that this was waiting for you.

**Caraphoenix: **Funny you should say about Piotr from X-Men… they're based on the same actor (if you look at X2 anyway) and they do kinda have the same temperament… no one else picked up on that so far. You'll be seeing more of him and Lei in the future, so I'm happy you like them both. 

**Capt. Cow: **The newest baddie? You already met him, dear Cow :) Mwahahaha! 

**Enduro: **… That has got to be the most reassuring and encouraging thing anyone has ever said, and I thank you deeply for it. You really are being too kind, but I appreciate it all the same. 

**Graymoon74: **Hehehehe… cool analogy. Hadn't thought of that myself, but they do have the same mindless-killing-machine approach to them don't they? Much butt-kicking to come, so don't despair! Scared? Excellent! Bwahaha!

**Emily M. Hanson: **Thanks.

* * *

                Deciding it best to abandon the area before the other two werewolves discovered what had been done, Mina, Quatermain and Skinner had fled, aiming to return to the Nautilus, and ample shelter from ambush. They did not pass the other two creatures on the way, but did almost literally run into Jekyll and Nemo, the former clinging to the tatty remains of his clothing and shivering. On the way back from the alley where the chase had ended, Skinner had reclaimed his shed trilby and coat and re-donned them, but he chivalrously offered his leather jacket to Jekyll.

                "No, it's quite all right," Jekyll said at once, "I'm fine."

                "Just take the coat," Skinner retorted blandly, and rather bluntly, and after a brief hesitation, the doctor accepted, slipping it on and for a while looking and seeming rather uncomfortable. After a moment, though, he seemed to settle into the item of clothing, though Mina had to admit that the man did look rather odd in the coat, but she refused the smile.

                "What happened?" she asked of Nemo and Jekyll.

                Nemo cleared his throat quietly, and said quietly, "I was incapacitated. I am the wrong person to ask, Mrs. Harker."

                Mina could not hide her surprise at this fact, and her eyes hovered on the mysterious captain for a moment, before she forced herself to look at Jekyll inquiringly. The timid man noticed and faltered, stumbling over his own words, before managing, "Well… Hyde fought them for only a little while, before they almost sensed something, and fled. It was peculiar."

                "The one I shot," Quatermain offered at once in explanation. "They _are_ a pack after all. They might have sensed the injury, or even heard the shot itself. It would have caused them to find their wounded… or dead, I should say."

                "No," Mina interjected confidently, beginning on her way to the Nautilus, not far off, the floating trilby right by her side, "not dead, Mr. Q., you can be sure of that."

                She more or less detected Quatermain's confusion on the air, it was so prominent, and she sighed lightly. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Nothing could ever be easy. She was musing on this as she said, "I am pretty sure I mentioned it in the fuller explanation, Mr. Quatermain… my apologies if I missed out this detail, but werewolves are far more resilient that normal creatures… much like vampires. You may have heard the myth about silver, and I will not hesitate to ensure you that this is indeed true. Conventional weapons cannot kill them… they can _hurt_ them, yes… but not kill. We need bullets or blades of silver to destroy them. It is either that, or massive trauma to the brain or spinal column. Sever the latter, and it will be instantaneous death, as Mr. Hyde discovered rather effectively not too long ago. Captain Nemo – if the threat persists that is – can fit your rifle with silver bullets as he did with Agent Sawyer's."

                Quatermain did not present any argument, just held his rifle closer to him as if for protection, looking over his shoulder in an almost irritated fashion. The hunter had been robbed of his kill, and Mina had no doubt that this stung quite badly, for an adventurer so famed.

                With another delicate sigh, she saw the submarine loom into view, and continued to puzzle over the werewolves' reasons for chasing them. So far she had very little to go by in the way of explanation.

* * *

                Lacertus did not give in to the pain, even as he morphed back into his human form, his curled black locks falling in his brown eyes as he screwed up his face in an exaggerated grimace. The fact that he was devoid of any clothing did not bother him, even as the two other figures hovered in the shadows, their feral eyes the last things to change back to human normality. They watched him, and he knew their gazes were burning into him accusingly in reprimand. 

                He glanced to them, and then lowered his head, touching a hand to his side where the rifle shot had blown into him. His hand came away reddened, but in the alpha pair's presence, he did not dare to show the discomfort. His head was bowed in subtle submission as he said, "I did not mean for them to escape."

                The female strode over to him, her light chestnut locks disorganised attractively – to him at least – around her icy eyes and flawless features, her intense gaze boring into him. She looked disappointed, but did not show it too much as normal humans would, instead simply arched a brow, and said, "It will not happen again, Lacertus."

                He glanced up and met the solid gaze of Lacertus, and replied, "No, lupa… it will not." She nodded at his title for her, and gazed to the second male as he strode boldly over, favouring his right leg slightly but hiding the pain completely from his face. It was Gladius, the most brutal of the two males, and most certainly the alpha of the pair, with Falx, the fiery-haired woman most definitely heading off the team. The three regarded one another blankly for a moment, soldiers united in failure and not in the least bit perturbed by it outwardly, before Falx gave a shudder, and then transformed, followed shortly by Gladius, who dropped to all fours and snarled. Lacertus stared at them for a moment as if hesitant with the rifle wound to his side, and gave in to the change.

                Lacertus clambered to his four paws and gave a shake, ignoring the burning in his body, and ran after the rest, bringing up the rear behind the swift alphas.

* * *

                Tom, Anise and the other two waited in the dining hall, and a crewmember had brought hot tea a little while ago, which none of them seemed interested in. Lei eyed it every now and then, perhaps as if it were not to be trusted, but did not move toward it, standing warily next to the intimidating Dmitri. 

                The atmosphere was heavy, the mood tense, and Tom for one kept looking to the others for some kind of explanation as to what was going on and why they had been chased. So far, no one had given him anything. It was starting to play on his patience, which had already been a little thin as of late, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He had a pretty good idea though.

                "Anise… can you tell me what just happened out there?"

                Her brown eyes floated to meet his, and then flitted away for a moment. Something was wrong, and it was obvious in more ways than one. She avoided his direct gaze, her shoulders had slumped slightly, and she was nervous… he could sense it, _smell_ it even, and that was perhaps what frightened him most.

                "Anise…" he began again, moving toward her. He thought he heard a low threatening growl, and glancing to the other side of the table showed him that Lei was glaring, dark eyes narrowed dangerously. He stared right back, almost a challenge, and then turned on the Frenchwoman. "What's going on? Who _were_ the people-" He cut himself off, closed his eyes and corrected, "Werewolves… who were they? The ones following us…"

                The shadowy gaze met his own, and the brown eyes wavered in their hold, and she faltered in her words, words that cut themselves off before taking on any real sound. She was hiding something from him, and he could tell it was not good.

                "Not again, Anise," he began quietly, bowing his head down to her slightly and talking in a low voice, almost a growl, and quite literally. He tried to stop it, but his emotions fought for precedence, and the bestial urges were starting to burn through him. "You've lied to me before, and it ended _badly_… it ended with me becoming like _you_, remember?"

                "Yes I remember, and I never meant to hurt you," Anise countered, turning on him, seemingly ignoring the presence of Dmitri and Lei as she continued, "you must remember that. I fought Jacques to save you."

                Without thinking properly, the words came from his mouth, "And what a great job you did."

                The shock filled her features at the sarcasm unintentionally dripping from his words, and she gave a slight gasp of disbelief, shaking her head.

                Tom felt the force pull on his shoulder, and he whirled to face Lei, who was growling loudly at him, still completely human but also extremely vehement on defending her friend.

                "Don't touch me again," he warned her, even as Anise walked quickly from the room, watched silently by Dmitri, who stood stoically on the other side of the table, his eyes the only expressive part of his body. They were surprised and saddened, and he glanced to Tom and Lei as they stood in the middle of their confrontation, inches apart, so differing in size but anger rising quickly and comparing impressively.

                Tom was growling despite himself, but he suddenly cut it off, and shoved Lei hard, sending her back into the table with such force that she caused the piece of furniture to slide across the floor, almost colliding with the Russian, who leapt out of the way with a disbelieving gaze at Tom.

                The American glared at both of them, and then moved from the room, heading after Anise. He had lost sight of her, but he used his new abilities to track her. He tried not to let it bother him, even as his newly enhanced hearing picked up the telltale sounds of someone entering the Nautilus, in discussion.

                _The _League_ are back_, he reasoned, and halted for only a moment, before he carried on, intent on finding Anise and trying to get to the bottom of the problem. He should have known she was hiding something from him again… but she had seemed so relaxed. But then again, hadn't she acted that way before? 

                _Why am I so trusting? I should have expected this_, he thought with a deep frown, running his hands through his dishevelled hair. Sighing, he caught her scent… she was headed for his own room. Had she expected him to follow her? Maybe she had, but then again, perhaps she had not realised where she was going and had only travelled that way out of instinct. 

* * *

                Skinner pushed his way into the dining hall only to freeze immediately at the sight. The two strange werewolves were standing there, side by side, the small woman looking infuriated, free of Quatermain's jacket now. He tried to avert his eyes from the shredded clothing, noticing she let her eyes scan over the floating trilby again, brow furrowed ever so slightly. The man by her side was gigantic to say the least, a huge hulking mass of muscle and bone. He didn't look the kind one would challenge unless they were certain of victory… and Skinner wouldn't be trying that any time in the near future.

                The others came in behind him, and Mina pushed past, looking at the two others, saying, "Introductions will be made when this matter is resolved." She looked around the room at great length, turning her clear, icy gaze back on the two newcomers and asking coolly, "Where are Sawyer and Delacroix?"

                The two simply looked at one another, even as Quatermain rested the butt of Matilda on the ground impatiently, and sighed wearily, leaning on the barrel with one weathered hand, shadowy eyes on the two strangers. "There is business to discuss… would you mind supplying an answer?" he asked of them, raising his brows in unison to emphasise on the urgency of his inquiry.

                Skinner slumped into a chair after relieving the decanter of some of its volume, sipping at the glass quickly and thirstily. This was going to take a _long_ while… it didn't seem that the newcomers trusted anyone.

                "Perhaps," Skinner began, no longer intimidated when everyone's eyes shot to him when he spoke, "it would be productive to get the pesky introductions out of the way? Then we can get on with the explanations, 'eh?"

                Everyone exchanged glances, and with a sigh, Quatermain and Mina began the necessary task of meeting and greeting, though somewhat begrudgingly it seemed, from their body language at least. Skinner had grown – or so he liked to think – rather adept at reading it, and Mina looked incredibly tense as she shook hands with the large… was he Russian?

                The smaller one was watching Skinner – or rather, his hat – with caution, as if worried he would leap up and attack her at any moment. But, he realised, if she was a werewolf, as she did indeed appear to be, then she would have no problems smelling him anyway… so what did she have to worry about?

* * *

                Anise whirled at once when the door flew open behind her and Tom strode in, clearly upset and hurt by her behaviour… as she was with his. She thought he had trusted her this time, _really_ trusted her… but it appeared that was not so. He had offended her by insulting her prior efforts to save him at Evans' estate, where she had in fact unknowingly caused his own change. So small a thing… it had ruined his life. The guilt did not seem as much as she had expected it to be now though… there were bigger matters at stake; he just didn't realise that yet. How could he? 

                "How could you keep things from me again?" he began at once, his southern beginning to flow more into his accent, and she listened intently so as not to miss the slightest detail of his words, even as she noticed he had left his own cabin wide open to everyone else, people who would unwittingly listen in on their conversation, something that deserved to be private and shared only between the two of them.

                "Tom… close the door."

                "How could you betray my trust, if only slightly, _again_?"

                "The door, Tom-"

                "I thought you might have learned from the past that lying and hiding things only gets people hurt, and you claim to feel for me. How could you do this?"

                "Tom!" Their eyes met and locked for what felt like hours. It was, in reality, only a few seconds, she knew, but it weighed on her heavily, and she said in conclusion, "Close the door…"

                Swinging out behind him with his booted foot – he had reclaimed them once aboard the Nautilus – he slammed it shut. Anise winced, and sighed. She would have to use all of her patience to make the American see reason… why was he always jumping to conclusions?

                _You act as if you **know** this man… last time you got close, you betrayed him, and look where that got you. _She sighed again, rubbing her temples as Tom stared at her with narrowed eyes. She was starting to get a headache. _I should tell him the truth… he deserves it this time._

                He relaxed only slightly, a subtle loosening of his muscles and limbs that was undetectable to the naked eye. She noticed though. She wasn't sure why, but she did… and she did not know whether or not to be comforted by this. She watched the expression as it faltered slightly on his face, before he launched into a rant again, "I trusted you, and now I find out you've been keeping things from me… regardless or not of whether its specifically about _me_, what am I supposed to think, huh? How am I supposed to feel about that?"

                She turned on him, her hair whirling about her face as she said, "Enough!"

* * *

                Tom jumped back only slightly, his whole body on the alert should Anise attack… not that she would… would she? She looked rather angry all of a sudden, a hidden fire in her brown eyes as she stared into his face, seemingly running extremely thin on patience. He could hear her rapid breathing, see the tension in her own body, and suddenly she closed her eyes, letting an exhausted sigh escape her lips as her head hung slightly.

                "Anise-"

                "I did not mean to _hurt_ you, don't you understand? How many times can I apologise for that?" she began, the pain of his past accusations rising again in her voice and flowing through, striking him and making him frown, almost guiltily.

                Then he remembered the outcome of all of it, and hardened again, his jaw tightening slightly, his fists clenching for a moment and his eyes narrowing subtlely, enough to give off the impression of irritation. "This is different."

                "Yes it is, and all I wanted to do was see what was going to happen before I told you what we know."

                "We?" Tom took a step forward, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes further in perplexity. "_We_? They knew as well… Dmitri and Lei? You could tell _them_ but you couldn't tell _me_?" The revelation had hurt, but perhaps more than it should have.

                _You're starting to get possessive_, he realised with a slight pang of shame. She wasn't his property… she was a person – well, lycanthrope strictly – and she had her own rights to make up her own mind and tell whomever she chose whatever she wanted. It wasn't up to him, and he had to get used to that… if he totalled up the amount of time over the past year he had spent with her, it was only about a month… he had never realised before, yet he felt so comfortable – most of the time – with her. The only other person who made him feel that way was Mina… but they had grown rather distant since his change.

                _Don't let the _League_ slip away_, he told himself, and looked Anise in the eye.

                "Yes, I could tell them, because I did not know what had become of you and if I would ever see you again. And when we met in that field, I did not know if I could trust you or the _L_-"

                "_Excuse_ me?" he blurted. "You didn't know if _you_ could trust _us_?" Despite his better judgement, he threw his head back slightly, hands tracing through his hair, and he barked out a laugh, bitter and humourless, before snapping his head forward again, close to hers, growling, "You shouldn't have a problem with trust, unless it's the worry that if people find out what sort of individual you are they would _never_ let you into their lives because you tried to kill someone you claimed to _love_!"

                "I did _not_ try to kill you! I told you this before!"

                "Kill, sire, it's all the same to me!"

                Her eyes burned with anger as she grumbled, "So you feel dead right now? This-" She waved her hand emphatically over his torso, eyes wandering for a moment, "is death to you? You do not realise what you are capable of? You are more powerful than any of your 'friends'-"

                "Don't bring them into this. They don't trust you, and frankly, neither do I right now. I went with you earlier because I thought I was safe with you. Turns out you've been slaughtering livestock-"

                "To stay alive."

                "-and there are three werewolves _chasing_ you… and _you_ won't tell _me_ why… the man you betrayed, lured into your trust and pretended to feel for."

                "I _do_ feel for you, for crying out loud!" Her accent was slipping subtlely, and there was nothing she could do right then to stop it, it seemed. Her rage was bubbling near the surface, and though he wasn't sure, he thought he saw a flash of yellow in her brown eyes, just below the compassion that was ever fading during their conflict.

                "Then how can you treat me this way? Where I come from, trust is honesty and loyalty, _not_ deceit and misdirection!"

                "I did not know the three were there at that very moment, all right? How was I supposed to know?"

                Tom glared. "Smell them, perhaps? I thought werewolves had heightened senses, after all."

                "There is no need to be sarcastic," she rumbled, quite literally. A low rattle of a snarl was bubbling in her throat. 

                _Would she really attack me?_ Tom wondered, eyeing her sceptically. He began shaking his head, holding up his hands, saying, "I can't deal with this. I'm going to talk with the others; see what they think we should do. Obviously, you're hiding something, and if you won't tell me, then it's something important, something you don't want us to know."

                He turned and walked for the door, but before he made it, something grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and – painfully enough – the hair at the rear of his skull, tearing him back and throwing him down. His back slammed into the floor, and he bit off a cry, shortly before Anise came down on him, pinning his wrists with her hands tightly, and using her knees – as she had once before – to stop his legs from freeing him. He wriggled, but she pushed down tighter. Her breathing was rugged and unsteady, as if she was panicked, and her eyes were indeed yellow.

                "Let go of me, Anise," Tom said quietly, a subtle threat, not wanting her to go through with something she might regret forever.

                She did not react, nor did she blink even slightly. Her teeth were bared, and they were more pointed than they should have been.

                "Anise," he began anew, and he forced the growl down at the potential challenge, before his anger reached boiling point, and he bellowed, "let _go_ of me!"

                He gave an almighty shove off the floor with as much of his body as he could manage, and successfully unbalanced Anise enough to reclaim the use of his right hand, which he landed against her shoulder in a solid blow that sent her back, before he flipped to his feet, with a loud, threatening growl, deep and menacing, and frightening even to the owner.

                "Move out of the way," he warned when he realised she had blocked the door. She shook her head vehemently. "Don't do something you might regret, Anise, please… don't do this to yourself again."

                "Then let me tell you what you wish to know… then maybe you will trust me enough to listen, all right?" she offered, breathless and shaking. The yellow had receded from her eyes, and she regarded him as a human, not as the wolf. Her teeth were no longer pointed and dangerous.

                He took this into account, and sighed loudly, arching his back slightly to test his spine for injuries under the shirt. His healing battle wounds were responding to the crash to the floor, but he fought down the discomfort, and said quietly with a slight edge only, "So what is it?" 

                She cradled her head in her hands for a moment, and sighed heavily, filled with obvious reluctance. She looked back up at him, and walked around his body, settling herself gently and silently on the end of his bed, hands knitted before her as she broke into an explanation; "Not long ago, we discovered – Lei, Dmitri and I – that there were more werewolves in the area, and they were waiting or searching for someone… we didn't know who."

                Tom nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and looming in the middle of the room, unaware of how imposing he appeared to the casual onlooker. His eyes were still slightly narrowed, and stared right at Anise.

                She continued, barely changing her tone as she spoke, "There were three… and they were American, we soon discovered."

                Tom perked up as she said this, and he interrupted, "American?"

                "Yes." She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and held it. "But they are different from you. They are ruthless and almost like soldiers in an army. They do not seem to think for themselves, almost… as if they are being controlled, which is impossible." 

                "Why is it impossible?" he found himself asking.

                She ignored his question with a light shrug, and persisted on her original explanation, "We tried to find out as much information from the local villagers as we could, and we visited Maggie-"

                "Maggie?"

                "The woman who lived on the outskirts of town… she helped Dmitri with his more… bestial urges, you could say. She was really a lovely woman."

                Tom swallowed the dry feeling in his throat and winced in preparation for the answer to his own question, "Was?"

                "They ripped her apart, Tom… they murdered her… and we don't know why. We only know that she had no chance of surviving, and the locals would think it was us. That is why we had that fence surrounding our building, and why we had to resort to stealing livestock to survive. They… the werewolves, only came after us… when…" She trailed off, her eyes wavering and then she locked them on his face.

                He almost stepped back from her. "Oh, don't tell me that." He turned from her to go out of the door, reluctant to listen to any more conspiracy theories regarding people pursuing him for whatever reason. It always seemed that Anise brought it down on him when she was around.

                She was behind him quickly, but instead of pulling him back, she laid a hand around his waist from behind, and said quietly, "Please… listen to my thoughts? I may be completely wrong… but it would not hurt to hear them."

                Leaning his head back softly, he felt it brush carefully against Anise's, and he let out a slow breath, closing his eyes, and murmuring, "All right."

* * *

                Allan sat in the chair at the head of the table, leaned back, hand partially covering his mouth in pensive consideration of what Lei Cheung and Dmitri – as they had introduced themselves respectively – had just revealed, both in fact and potential fiction. It only served to intensify – and quite vehemently – his concern for young Sawyer, and he wished to know where the American was and if he was okay. He was still trying to fathom all of this werewolf 'nonsense' and catalogue it all sensibly in his mind… something he was having trouble doing right then.

                Skinner was on his fourth scotch, and barely showing a sign of intoxication… not that any of them would really have been able to tell. He was completely invisible, save for the dismembered trilby. Harker was standing at the other end of the table, not too far from Cheung and Dmitri, all three silent, and equally pensive. Nemo was standing nearer to the side of the room, arms folded behind his back, and every now and then he took to pacing, whilst Jekyll sat to the right of Allan with a concerned edge to his features, clearly thinking things through as carefully as he could.

                "So what are we going to do?" Skinner mumbled from his place to the hunter's left, turning his glass round and round on the tabletop with a slight tinkling noise as he did so. The hat turned from Harker to Allan, as if in conflict as to who was in charge. Allan was no longer so sure of that himself. He had always thought Sawyer would make a fine leader, but it seemed he had other priorities and problems to worry about.

                "How _can_ we do anything?" Jekyll muttered in response, sounding a little too dejected for Allan's liking. The hunter sighed subtlely, but he noticed the doctor's eyes glanced to him only briefly, as though he had heard the noise. It wouldn't have completely surprised Allan if Jekyll – or Hyde – had.

                "We can do whatever is in our power, Doctor Jekyll," Harker interjected clearly, meeting the man's rather timid gaze. "I will not give up, despite the odds. I will not be stopped by three werewolves, no matter how brutal, determined or vicious."

                Allan smiled wanly. She was indeed a fine woman after all, in more ways than one. She seemed to have a good head for leadership, something he himself had overlooked entirely at first due to his wariness of the female of the species and their tendency to 'distract', therefore leading to trouble. "How can anyone argue with _that_?" he offered confidently, looking Mina Harker in the eye and giving her a nod. 

                The woman seemed almost taken aback, as though the subtle motion of approval stunned her, and she was shocked that the man had given in to her reasoning. He wasn't exactly submitting to her, but she _had_ been in the company of these people longer, and in that aspect, she truly did have the advantage. She knew them better, their weaknesses and strengths, who they really were, and what they would do for one another. True, Allan had his expectations, but with his past, that would not get him very far in reality. He admired the woman's approach.

                "But we should not be making any decision regarding a course of action until Sawyer and Delacroix return from wherever they went. After all, it would appear – from Miss Cheung and Dmitri's account that is – that our Agent companion is a key factor. It would be unwise to count him out on the vote, would it not?" Nemo had stopped pacing, and strode over to the table.

                That was when the doors to the lengthy room opened, and side by side, the two young individuals stepped into the opening with purpose and confidence, Sawyer announcing, "We need to go to America… now."

* * *

**A/N2: **Okay, so feel free to hate me for dragging this out, but one can't argue with their own chapter plan can they? Okay… so maybe they _can_ but I've already tweaked it slightly, and I'm not really keen to do it again, lol. This is quite a long update to make up for the delay (hopefully) and I look forward to hearing your opinions. Thanks for your patience and reading!


	13. Crystal Clarity

**Author's Note: ***hangs head in shame* I know, I know… you don't have to say anything. It took me ages, and I am feeling truly awful about that. Here… take this as a peace offering *hands out yummy chocolate cookies*

**angelic katty: **All questions will be answered in time, fear not.

**RogueSparrow:** Hehe, you used the old name for Shane West's band, cool. They're called 'Johnny Was' now ~_^

**Sethoz: **You don't hate me? *faints* Wow… never thought I'd see the day, lol. Top-notch? Groovy. I'd have a short temper if I was a werewolf too, lol. And it's settled… AOL hates us  -_-

**drowchild:** Glad you liked that bit; one of my faves too.

**Kame-sama: **Thanks for the heads-up… shame I didn't know before, d'oh! Appreciate you letting me know though. Glad you like my work too. 

* * *

                Somehow it felt odd to use heightened senses unintentionally when sighting down the barrel of a gun, the weight of the weapon no longer bothersome, and be able to pick out the red buoy bobbing along on the waves as though it were dancing. Tom let out a breath as he pulled the trigger, watching with mute satisfaction as the target was destroyed on impact, with a crack like thunder exploding from the gun and making him wince, his now-sensitive hearing aggravated by the noise.

                Before the other man even spoke, Tom was reloading the rifle – having smelt him, rather eerily, on the slight breeze – and saying, "Did you want something?"

                _Déjà vu…_

                "No," Quatermain said to him, closing the hatch, and hanging back whilst Tom called for another target, arcing the gun with it, pausing, and letting off the shot before the buoy had even splashed down, and half-destroying it. The right side was blown completely off by the powerful impact from the elephant gun, loaned to Tom Sawyer by the hunter himself in order to 'relax'. 

                Quatermain stepped up beside him, and regarded him with mild respect and pride. "Good shot."

                "Missed it by a few inches though," Tom pointed out, placing the butt of the rifle down onto the floor below him and hearing it clang dully. "A little to the left and I would've got it."

                "My eyesight isn't as bad as some may think, Sawyer," the hunter pressed, a whimsical smile on his lined face. "That shot was impressive, and don't pretend you're not proud of it yourself."

                Tom closed his eyes, lifting his chin slightly to let the wind play coolly and refreshingly over his skin as he murmured, "It's not that… that doesn't bother me so much." His head dropped forward, and he rolled his neck, shrugging his shoulders to loosen the tense muscles, before glancing solidly at Quatermain and saying, "It's the ease I do it with that's frightening."

                Without even realising, he lifted the elephant gun – not a light object by any means – and tossed it to the hunter, who was nearly barrelled over by the weapon. Tom winced an apology, and sighed.

                "You see what I mean?"

                "You needn't think of this as a curse, Sawyer," Quatermain offered, resting Matilda against the railing after staring out at the horizon for a pensive moment. "You _could_ look on it as an unfortunate blessing… one that enables you to react faster, run quicker, and you now have a strength that is unique to no one in the _League_ but you. I saw it in your eyes before… when I taught you how to shoot…" – the man paused with a wry smirk here – "that you felt isolated from the others due to your lack of supernatural gifts." He shrugged his shoulders casually, ending with a lazy, "That's not the case anymore, Sawyer, and whether you like it or not, it's not going to change… my advice – if you want it – is to use it… learn to master it, and apply it in your endeavours."

                Tom regarded Quatermain, squinting slightly in the sun, for a long moment, thinking over what the man had just said, before smiling and letting a slight nod move his head up and down. Finally, he let out a gentle laugh, sighing, and saying, "I knew there was a reason I was glad you came back."

* * *

                The fact that their journey had taken little less than only four days was a technological marvel… one that was lost on the three as they stepped from the advanced boat, clad in black and greys, neutral shades that left everything to the imagination. Coupled with their dark, foreboding expressions, and the formation in which they moved, they really were a sight to behold… and then move aside from very quickly. Which was exactly what the pedestrians did when within ten feet of the three.

                Falx, Gladius and Lacertus strode confidently and without breaking pace down the street to headquarters, deep down in the underground levels of the historical landmark building in the centre of the city. Their eyes were set straight ahead, stoic but carrying a visible undertone of ferocity if anyone so much as dared to disturb their path. 

                Falx and Gladius walked side-by-side, very much dominant over Lacertus, who strode behind them as a kind of shadowing guardian, lower down in the chain of command and seemingly not in the least perturbed by the fact. He strode purposefully behind the two alphas, his ankle-length cloth black coat swimming out behind him in the gentle breeze and leaving a wake after his passing. 

                Falx and Gladius wore similar jackets, the former's to her calves, and the latter's to his thighs. Falx appeared oddly masculine in her surroundings, and her fiery hair with its brushes of blonde was a noticeable contrast to the melancholy shades of their attire. 

                Due to their pace, and the lack of obstruction – even cabs moved aside for them, the horses shying and giving sharp whinnies that only served to bring a wry grin to Gladius' face – it did not take the three long to reach their destination. They were permitted without hesitation, the two guards at the doors cowering subtlely as if terrified of them. This amused Falx visibly, and she brushed against one on purpose, revelling in the smell of their fear. 

                Lacertus swept in finally, nodding to the guards curtly, his curls bouncing on his brow delicately, before the doors closed behind them with a sharp click that seemed deafening in the silent entrance foyer, save for the tick-tock of the grand clock by the stairs. 

                Once inside, they split into single file, Lacertus dropping back even further for Gladius to take up his rightful position behind Falx as she glided gracefully to the entrance to the lower levels. There were three guards near this door, who carefully veiled their emotions, pushing them down artfully so that the lycanthropic agents were not aware.

                Little did they know, her senses were so acute – like her two companions no doubt – that Falx was more than attentive to their hesitation when they were close by. They entered the spiralling staircase, their boots echoing resonantly around the stone walls, and carrying up and down equally as they descended. Their pace matched exactly, each striding precisely with the one in front or – respectively – behind. 

                When they reached the bottom of the steps, their footfalls silent and stealthy once again, they strode down a long corridor, passing the odd guard, armed with a powerful gun, and completely ignored them each in turn. Lacertus would often acknowledge them simply by gaze, but nothing more. 

                The door at the end of the hallway was thick and reinforced from both sides, guarded and watched all hours of the day. From the exterior appearance, one would never have expected what lay beyond it. 

                Falx gave a light knock on it twice with her right knuckles, and then pushed it open. The door gave a heavy creak, and a clang, granting them entrance. They stepped in, in turn, and Falx took up a central position, with Gladius on her right, and Lacertus on her left. In unison, they bowed their heads; eyes closed, and hovered like that for a silent moment.

                "Welcome back," came a steadfast voice from the other side of the room, and the three raised their heads as the man added, "and I notice there are only three of you. Not exactly what we planned is it?"

                Though Falx was the clear leader, she was not big on speech, and so glanced to Gladius. The bigger of the two males raised his head slightly higher, and – like the other two – knotted his hands in front of him as he said, "We ran into a few problems, sir."

                "And what _were_ these problems, hmm?" That was when Sebastian Woods turned from his data board, pristine and presentable in a crisp white shirt and formal black tie, the braces keeping his immaculate black pants up around his waist, silver tie clip maintaining the position of the item. He held a mug in his hand, clearly quite empty by the way he gestured with it upon continuation, "Why don't you _tell_ me about some of these problems, soldier?"

                Gladius did not flinch under the reprimanding tone of the superior man, and explained, "We tracked the target to Scotland, where they rendezvoused with an unplanned group of individuals, who proceeded to confuse the fine details of the plan, sir."

                "Don't make it all fancy, soldier," Woods grumbled, sipping at his beverage and rejecting it when he realised it was cold and – to him – useless. "Just lay it out straight."

                "Well, sir… three other lycanthropes got in the way." Gladius did not sway in his gaze or posture as he relayed the information, knowing very well that it would only prove to aggravate the superior man further.

                Woods' grey eyes lifted from the mug he had set down, and he raised them to take in the forms of his three elite… one word for them might be assassins… another would be – as Woods liked to call them – soldiers. But in truth, they were subjects; mindless drones who lived only to serve and complete their master's objectives.

                And to Woods, that had meant collecting Agent Tom Sawyer for integration. And the three had failed. It was not something he was used to, nor something he liked in the least.

                "Do you know how much, time, money and effort is going into this programme?" he asked of them, knowing they would not answer if the response was not obvious. They had been 'trained' that way. "Do you know how valuable to the survival of our fine country this _is_? And you come to me with nothing… nothing to show for _our_ efforts!" 

                Falx, Gladius and Lacertus did not move, simply let Woods hurl verbal abuse at them for as long as he deemed appropriate. They were not exactly used to this kind of behaviour from the man – except perhaps for Gladius, who had been in Woods' employ long before his 'recruitment' – but did not hesitate to let it play out nonetheless.

                "I will not tolerate another failure from what is supposed to be the strongest, fastest and best team this country has to offer. Too much work has gone into this to let it be destroyed by the three of you…" Woods paused here, eyes darkening dangerously and mysteriously as he added, "Now… I want that Agent… without any more excuses."

                With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them. They filed out to the right, Falx in the lead once again, with the younger Lacertus bringing up the rear again. They had been permitted a short rest, they knew, and they were planning to take it. Lacertus would relish the time to heal properly, instead of trying to rush it along on the boat as he had been since the wounding.

                It would give him time to contemplate the contrasting feelings and urges within himself… feelings and urges that he could not understand.

* * *

                Though they were nearing America – and with a certain level of haste – everyone was rather wary and hesitant, especially after what information had been shared had come into startling focus and clarity, revealed by Anise Delacroix… her imagination could possibly have been running away with her… either that or she was hitting the problem right on the nose. 

                It was this revelation that frightened – if only where no one could see it – Rodney Skinner, when he was shut away in his cabin. For a long time, he stared at the bottle of scotch; feeling its lure but not giving in. He wanted his wits about him. To be honest, he did not truly trust Anise… again. Something inside of him burned away, insisting that perhaps she had known about this whole scheme the entire time, and she was simply playing dumb.

                Her thoughts were that these three werewolves – whose names she did not know, conveniently enough – were working for an American government branch. Her impression was that they were trying to find Sawyer, and take him back to America for some reason that she could not understand – nor could Lei or Dmitri, who seemed to agree with her – or think about rationally. Whatever it was, Skinner wasn't entirely sure why Sawyer had demanded and pleaded to go to America… perhaps to try and oust out this problem and its origins… get to the heart of the problem as it were.

                _Impulsive is one way to put it… determined… or just plain crazy would do._ Skinner groaned, and slumped back on his bed. This could only lead to trouble… werewolf-induced trouble. And werewolves were something Skinner had grown to hate… loathe even. They scared him, and he didn't completely understand them.

                But the problem was, he now had one for a good friend, and didn't know what to do about that.

* * *

**A/N2: **Sucky chapter, I know… you can try and argue, but… meh… I only liked the first part. Okay, actually, I don't hate it _that_ much, so I'm just going to shut up now, and reassure you that the _League_ will reach USA next chapter ^_~


	14. Bonds

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know it took a long time, and I'm terribly sorry for that. The shout outs might ramble on for a bit, but I have my reasons, lol. Don't ask. I'm crazy. 

**Sethoz: **Glad you loved it. Warms my heart to hear you say that. Yes, Wood isn't very nice… something tells me you might grow to dislike him more in future chapters.

**drowchild: **You spelt incredulous right, my friend. Glad you like it!

**Beck2: **Thanks for the review… which I received almost 50 times… hehe, not your fault I know, but I now know it off by heart. Lol!

**RogueSparrow: **Ack! The praise! Swelled head! Eeep. Though I should be grateful, which I most certainly **_am_**! Don't get me wrong, lol. Appreciate every word. *hugs*

**Raven Silvers: **Ah yes… hello, Raven. Well… long 'review' you gave me there, and as author I feel it is my job/right to explain/defend myself, would you not agree? Pray, tell me, if I seem offended… okay? All right, I'll go through point by point and make my case. 1) Ah yes, the alpha issue. I've simply called them that for ease of reference. Not all alphas mate, sometimes the male will _try_ with all his might, but the female won't have it. Now, bear in mind, my guys are brainwashed werewolves, lol, and I believe that's mostly explained away the problem… plus they're soldiers of a sort, and if you know anything about the forces, you know it's strictly a no-no. 2) Skinner wasn't exactly doubting his friendship with Tom… he was considering how it would change, and not sure what to do about it. He feels awkward and detached, confused. I never said they weren't friends, can't have that. Like you say, it's an appealing thing, and it won't ever change. I'm not splitting up the troublesome twosome. 3) Despite being the youngest, Lacertus has actually been a lycanthrope the longest, which you'll know cuz I imagine you read his bio on my LXG fanfiction site. It will appear in the story later on, it will develop, as you might say. I agree with you about that word by the way, lol. I love Lycan from _Underworld_ myself, hehe. Good impression of Lacertus though. 4) Woods… well, you haven't seen much of him, I'll admit, and you're not far off, but he's not exactly an all round misguided guy, is he? He's brainwashing once-loyal subjects of his country and bending them to his will. Bad guy if you ask me, but think of the jer- man what you will. Lol. 5) Okay, last point… this, and I have to be honest, kinda threw me off quite a bit, and not in a pleasant way. I _know_ you weren't trying to offend me, but sometimes lil' ol' me lets her head run away with her. The _League_ are not themselves because, well… let's face it; one of their number has just been revealed as a potential slaughtering machine, with little to no self-control over his lycanthropy. I'd be a little out of whack myself. Mina is skipping her icy one-liners because she feels they are inappropriate in the dilemma; after all, she isn't Dorian and she does have a heart in there somewhere. Plus she is confused, along with Skinner, who's worried for his dear friend and therefore keeping his trap shut to avoid saying anything he might regret or lose a companion over. Allan… you were pretty much dead-on with your assessment of his behaviour. He's just got back from the dead, and I do extend on that in this chapter, and he's deeply worried about his protégé, whom he left as an optimistic young human. Now he comes back, and BLAM, not anymore. He's missed a lot, and is trying to catalogue, yeah? ^_^ And as for Nemo and Jekyll/Hyde… well, I have an order to my characters, but as you may notice, I do try and throw them all in now and then. I don't completely skip. All authors will do this. I have my Alpha characters (Tom and Mina) and I have my Omega characters (Nemo and sometimes Jekyll/Hyde, plus I'm never overly confident with using the poor guys, and don't want to mess up the continuity of their personalities). Skinner is snugly in the middle, and pops up quite a bit to lighten the mood, which I know you like, cuz he's a fave of yours, no? The plushie behind you says so anyway *waves to Skinner plushie, remembering he's inanimate* Yes, so anyway, _please_ don't take offence, I just thought you deserved some kind of explanation for the points you brought up, all valid to you, I'm 100% sure. After all, we all have our opinions; it's what makes up human ~_^

Gah, sorry… so much rambling! My apologies, please do continue with the story if you're still awake! Enjoy, hopefully, and remember to tell me what you think. Thanks!

* * *

                The trip to America was spent – respectively for each member of the _League_ – in the solitude that they found in their own cabins. No one really spoke to each other… perhaps they were afraid something terrible was going to happen. From what they had seen of their adversary, they had a difficult time ahead… not that a plan of action had been finalised.

                Henry had noticed that the four werewolves spent a lot of time in each other's company, sticking close like an instinctual pack. It was intriguing, and though he was not a study of behaviour, he had taken note of it. His notebooks lay in disarray on his desk, scribbled with observations.

                _"Why do you care, Henry? They are only beasts and monsters. They care only for themselves… that bitch will betray us again."_

                "Oh, not now, Edward… please."

                _"You resort to begging now? How pathetic…"_

                Henry rolled his eyes, careful to avoid any reflective surfaces lest he catch the grimace of his alter ego. "And you have no right to call to call others beasts and monsters, Edward."

                _"Don't forget who **made** me, Henry… I'm** part** of you."****_

****Henry, irritated with Edward's grumbling and apparent intelligence about the matter – not knowing how to retaliate either – stood from his chair, almost knocking it over backwards with the speed of it. He ignored the wobbling of the furniture, and strode from the room, slipping his pocket watch into place as he did so, secure on its little chain. It caught the light as it did so, spinning before being hidden away.

                Henry slipped his jacket on, merely for formality, and quickly made his way to the conning tower for some much needed fresh air. Edward was starting to give him a headache, one thing he did not need, especially as they were coming up on America. He knew his way to the exterior as though he had lived aboard the Nautilus his entire life, and made the journey in record time, swiftly climbing the ladder and pushing his way out into the dusk, only to stop at the sight of another figure, not a fellow _League_ member either.

                It was the imposing – though rather gentle-seeming – Russian gentleman… or rather, lycanthrope, Henry supposed. He saw that the man had already turned his eyes to observe Henry before he had even opened the door, and the doctor fumbled for something to say.

                "I… I'm sorry, I seem to have disturbed you."

                "Of course not, Doctor. Please… join me."

                Henry considered the werewolf, huge as he was, and then proceeded to the railing to stand beside him. Dmitri glanced to him with a ghost of a smile. Henry looked out to the failing light dancing on the rippling waves of the ocean as they sped towards America's coast. They were coming up on it with startling speed, and a sense of urgency surged throughout the doctor. 

                "So," Dmitri began in his almost cheery tones, "you and Mr. Hyde share a body?"

                 "It's a little more complicated than that, but I suppose that would be one way of putting it, yes." Henry tried to smile, finding he couldn't.

                "Believe me, Doctor," Dmitri said then, his expression darkening suddenly, "I sympathise." The shaded eyes turned on Henry, and he almost took a step back from the pained light he saw in them.

                "Your lycanthropy?"

                "Precisely." Dmitri nodded, and then turned back to face the waters out on the horizon. It seemed that was to be the end of the conversation. But Henry found himself confused… it had seemed to him, in the time before now – though he far from _knew_ Dmitri – that the man was less than bothered by his 'condition', perhaps even embraced it. What he had just seen and heard from the large individual suggested otherwise. 

                Perhaps he had been turned against his will, Henry surmised, but knew better than to pry. He himself was a man of many secrets, including the numerous barbaric crimes Edward – and himself inadvertently – was responsible for. He respected other people's privacy, for he had always had his own…

* * *

                Allan Quatermain sat in his room, and had been alone for near on three hours with his thoughts. Everything was rather confusing as of late, since his return to the _League_. It appeared Mrs. Harker was now the leader, with Sawyer bringing up a firm second place. Not entirely disagreeable, but not what Allan had had in mind upon 'departing'. 

                He had noticed Skinner's silence lately as well, and was – if such a thing was possible – concerned for the thief. Something seemed to be bothering him, and Allan would have asked him, if not for the slight rift between them, given the way in which he had left and then returned. He wished he had more answers for them… he just didn't. He couldn't tell them what death was like, for he truly didn't know. Allan hadn't been gone – as far as he had been told – all that long. 

                It disappointed him that he had not experienced more in death… for he truly _had_ died. Though he hadn't gone anywhere… he had just… ended, or so it seemed. He had not seen any of his wives or lovers, nor his son, something that truly pained him. Allan had hoped he would have seen them again when he finally let go of life, but it appeared he was wrong about that. 

                And then there was Sawyer' condition to consider… the fact that he had not only matured since Allan's departure, but he had literally changed. The exact details were lost on Allan, but he knew that the Tom Sawyer he had known prior to his murder was long gone… or so it seemed. Maybe there was something left of him inside, but it was saddening to think the optimistic and cheerful young American was lost to the brutality of a werewolf, the change taking over him inside and tearing him apart, making him pessimistic and somewhat cold. 

                _We can't let that happen to him. We're a team, and we need to watch out for one another… whether we like it or not. I see the way they try to pretend as though nothing is wrong, but they couldn't be further from the truth. They are lying to themselves, and with each moment that passes in our ignoring him, he's slipping away._

                He didn't trust any of these other werewolves. Their presence had him reeling with mistrust… he didn't know why. He had heard of Delacroix's betrayal before, and he supposed that was why he disliked her now. This was _her_ fault, whether Sawyer thought so or not. There was no escaping the facts, and if she wasn't removed from the Nautilus at the first oppurtunity, along with her mysterious companions, then they might lose Sawyer altogether… possibly in the most literal sense. 

                Sawyer could get himself killed, trying to protect these people… these people who had barely spoken more than five words since inviting themselves aboard. In truth, Sawyer had convinced Nemo and the others to let them stay, but Allan couldn't have been more fervent about denying them passage. What right did they have to involve themselves? True, the _League_ were not officially assigned to stop these people either, but it _was_ part of their 'job' – Mrs. Harker had informed him of their instatement as a real _League_ – to eradicate threats like this… for no one planning on anything including trained werewolf soldiers could be up to any good. Of that, Allan was certain.

                Now if only he could get through to Sawyer…

                As if on some bizarre mental cue, there was a light knocking on his door, which was slightly ajar. Allan turned his head to see Agent Sawyer himself standing framed in the light from the corridor, hands in his pockets as usual, his trademark stance. He looked to the hunter with shadowed green eyes, blinking once, and saying, "Can I talk to you?"

                "Of course," Allan responded, standing and turning the chair, waving at the one facing him for Sawyer to seat himself. He did so, tentatively, seemingly with every sense on the alert… instinct, Allan knew. It was odd to see the animalistic behaviour in a human though, and it almost fascinated him before he reminded himself of what was going on. Now really was not the time.

                "What was it you wanted to talk about?" Allan settled in the chair again.

                Sawyer stared at the carpet between his boots for a long, silent moment, before his head snapped up, and he said suddenly, "You don't trust them, do you…?"

                Before Allan could respond, too stunned by the abruptness, Sawyer persisted with determination flashing in his eyes, "Anise and the others… you don't trust them."

                "I barely know them, Sawyer, but from what I've heard, I have no reason to… and neither do you."

                Their eyes locked… some would say tensely. "I don't fully forgive her for what happened… but I don't completely _blame_ her either. This happened as she tried to save me. At least the man truly responsible died, and Evans too. We still achieved our goal, and accidents happen."

                "How can you tell this was an accident?"

                "_Excuse_ me? What are you saying?" Sawyer narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

                Allan leaned back in his chair slightly, and continued, taking a breath beforehand, "How do you know that this wasn't one big conspiracy, built up by the people we now go to confront… Evans and his men could have been duped, just like you, into thinking they had control, and that they knew what they were doing. Evans might have been confident of success, and winning your allegiance. Maybe then he planned to hand you over to these Americans for whatever they plan… there's no way of knowing. And this Delacroix and her friends could have been part of it from the beginning." At Sawyer's angered expression, Allan added, "I'm not trying to upset you, I'm just looking at the facts from a new angle… a rather extraordinary one, I'll admit, but not impossible."

                "No… it's too… I don't know." He stood; running both hands through his hair briskly and giving it a more dishevelled appearance… not that one could notice. He turned on Allan after a moment of pacing, and waved a hand. "How do we know why you're really back? There's another example of 'extraordinary but not impossible' for you. You could have been sent for… something." Sawyer had apparently lost his fire near the end of the sentence, and stammered out, looking slightly sheepish.

                Allan remained seated; knowing from his experience that standing also might pose as a challenge or a threat. He didn't want that… Sawyer could easily kill him now. "Not exactly plausible… but as you said, not _impossible_. But have I ever given you a reason not to trust me, hmm?"

                Sawyer faltered there, trapped between reason and loyalty. He paused entirely, his body going still, his eyes never wavering from Allan's, until he suddenly dropped them to the floor and sighed. "No, you haven't…" His eyes rose again. "But… whether I want to admit it or not, I _need_ these people… like I need the _League_." His voice fell considerably in volume, and he added, "I need you on my side… now more than ever."

                Allan stood, slowly but surely, from the chair, and walked over to Sawyer, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I _am_ on your side… I always have been." He smiled, in a fatherly fashion. "And I always will be… I'm here for you. To help."

                Sawyer looked Allan in the eye, something different shining in them now. Was that fear? Or was it appreciation? Allan could have cared less, but at that moment, he brushed it aside, and took the younger man in his arms in a reassuring embrace, one that was returned with vehemence, as if letting him go would mean losing him all over again.

                So long as he was needed, Allan vowed not to let that happen.

* * *

                The Nautilus slipped into port as far down out of sight as possible, which was quite difficult in a bustling city like New York. It drew attention at once, like fireworks would when exploding in the night sky when all else had been silent and dark. 

                The doors were opened, and the ramps extended like a great tongue branching out of a gaping maw. Observing figures leapt back from the sight. Luckily, no authorities were near to ask pesky questions, and emerging out of the shroud from within the belly of the submersible came the _League_, tightly formed into a unit.

                Tom was in the middle at the forefront, with Mina and Quatermain on either side. Skinner walked at the rear, with Nemo and Jekyll just a little ways in front and to his sides. They formed a kind of circle, though no one resided in the centre, as they normally might for protection perhaps. From behind them came formation lines of Nemo's crew, causing the pedestrians to scatter further back away from the procession, and at the very rear were the other three werewolves.

                And as suddenly as they had all emerged, and proceeded, they stopped, halting like a well-trained and rehearsed unit. Tom looked to Quatermain and Mina, and then over his shoulder, eyes locking with Anise. She glanced right back at him, and she – along with Dmitri and Lei; silent and mysterious as ever – pushed forward, walking around the crewmen to come up to the American, who seemed very much in his element now that he was back in his country.

                Tom hesitated for only a moment, sighing slightly and almost unnoticeably, before saying sternly, "You're not coming."

                Anise's expression was frighteningly blank for a long time, before she narrowed her eyes. "_What_? Why? You need us, Tom."

                Tom shook his head. "The _League_… I'm going with the _League_, and you're staying here."

                "We can protect you," Dmitri offered, forever trying to help. The look in his eyes would have been heartbreaking if not for his sheer bulk. He looked solely at Tom, and there was no conflict, other than the burning desire to be of assistance in whatever way he could.

                Tom looked back up at the man he barely knew – and regretted not growing closer to – and sighed. "No… I'll be all right. But I want you… _need_ you, to stay here… please."

                Anise had not taken her eyes off of Tom since coming around to face him, whereas Lei was darting her gaze back and forth between the members of the elite team. She scowled. "I knew this would happen," she hissed to Anise. "They mean to abandon us, where you said they would _help_. When have we ever been helped, other than by _ourselves_?"

                Skinner looked as though he had been done – verbally – a great disservice. He furrowed his brow, offended, and crossed his arms, coming up beside Mina, glaring through his pince-nez. "We're tryin' to help _you_ as well, you know. You could at least show a little gratitude, or is that too much to ask?"

                Lei snarled, loudly, and Anise grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from the thief so briskly, Tom imagined it would have yanked the limb out of the socket of anyone other than a werewolf. "Stop," Anise snapped, and narrowed her eyes coldly as they flashed a feral yellow for a brief fraction of a moment. 

                Lei let the rumble die down in her throat, and whispered a few words in her native language at Anise, who wore a deep look of concentration for a moment before sighing. She did not retaliate. Tom found himself extremely curious as to what had been said, and glanced to the fuming young woman, shortest of the four of them, but perhaps the fiercest.

                Tom knew Lei just wanted to protect what she considered to be her family. He wished he knew more about her… and Dmitri… not to mention Anise. He had never once heard her speak of her family, or friends, before her siring. It was like she had no past, and for that, he was sorry, though he didn't know why. 

                "Anise… _please_… just… stay here?" He gave her his most convincing – or so he hoped anyway – pleading look, eyes never wavering. 

                It seemed like hours passed, and everything fell still around them, the moon rising overhead and bringing with it an eerie ethereal glow. The stars flickered in between the clouds that floated like ghostly shadows across the heavens and were soon hidden as a rumble of thunder threatened to tear the sky apart. 

                "All right." Anise's voice was quiet and defeatist, and her eyes lowered, submitting. Lei glanced briskly from the Frenchwoman to Tom, and back again. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dmitri growled sharply, cutting her off. Tom had never heard him do that before, and nodded his thanks to the Russian. Dmitri merely returned the inclination of the head. 

                _Respect_, Tom noted, and was not unappreciative. He gave the slightest of smiles, and reached forward with a hand, raising Anise's chin with his fingers, bowing his head to her. He kissed her gently, but firmly, a sign he would be back for her, safe and sound.

                And then they parted, her eyes lingering on him with tears shining, threatening to fall. She said something in French to him, soft and melancholy, and then made her way back to the Nautilus, Lei and Dmitri in her wake.

                Tom turned his head to watch them go, frowning deeply, before wondering what had been said to him. He was curious as to why she had spoken in French, and then decided that it was perhaps not for him to hear. He turned to go the way they had chosen, with the rest of the _League_ pushing on around him. Quatermain, Jekyll, Nemo and Skinner surged forward with determination and a hidden urgency, but before the American could follow, Mina's hand snagged gently in his jacket. 

                The vampire looked him square in the eye, blue orbs of clarity and honesty, as she said, "… 'If you die, you'll take my heart with you'…" With that, she ducked around him, and headed off to catch up with the others, leaving Tom to stare into the Nautilus after Anise, wondering why she couldn't have said it to his face.

* * *

**A/N: **Well originally, this chapter was going to be bigger, but this seemed like as good a place to leave it as any. Call me cruel, and a bully for keeping you hanging, but… isn't that the point? Lol. More soon… I promise. Thanks!


	15. Casualty of War

**Author's Note: **Well, thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter everybody, much appreciated as always. Glad you enjoyed it, though it was much shorter than I had planned. *throws chapter plan out of window, then quickly runs out and gets it, shoving it in her mouth* Wouldn't want anyone to see that now, would I? Despite my not using it exactly anymore. But enough of that… on with the show, 'eh?

**Raven Silvers: **Course we're still friends. Lol. Just a misunderstanding combined with a bad day. They don't mix, but sadly, sometimes it happens. All is forgotten and forgiven. I'm glad you like Dmitri.

**RogueSparrow:** Would you believe me if I said that _wasn't_ the line? *pause* Didn't think so. *cringes* Ooh! Brownie! *takes one* Thanks!

**Sethoz: **Hehe, goddess, original, and for that you get credit. And referring to the Landon quote… **_nice!_** Splendidly played, my friend! Slipped that in there seamlessly, and I'm impressed, lol. Glad you loved it.

**Graymoon74: ***snatches paper from you* Who gave you this? These are my notes! D'oh! *locks notes away into impenetrable safe* Hmm… now I'm suspicious. But seriously, how do you _do_ that? Lol.

* * *

                The pacing was starting to irritate Dmitri, and he watched the Frenchwoman from his seat at the dining table, hands knitted casually on the surface before him. His eyes never left Anise's form, and he raised an eyebrow. What had her so troubled? Tom Sawyer was concerned for her; she should appreciate the affection. She was lucky to have someone who – apparently – cared for her enough to know when to keep her locked away… not that they were _really _locked away. The three of them could escape at any given moment. They had only ample oppurtunity.

                Lei was restless, and paced about as much as Anise did, only behind Dmitri instead of in front. It was some small grace, for it meant the Russian avoided a headache induced by dizziness from watching the two move. He had had about as much as he could take, remaining silent and simply watching everything fester and build within his companion, and he finally said, "I would much appreciate if you could stop."

                Anise did so, but only because his voice startled her. She turned her head to him briskly, and blurted, "Pardon?"

                "Your pacing," Dmitri explained, waving a hand vaguely in her direction, almost lazily, "it is making me dizzy. And it is not a pleasant sensation." He offered her a teasing smile, one she did not return.

                Lei came up beside Dmitri then, and regarded Anise with narrowed eyes. "Why did you agree so blindly?"

                "It was not blindly."

                "Call it what you will, but you allowed yourself to be ordered like some lower animal."

                Anise and Lei glared coldly at one another, though Dmitri knew it ran deeper than it seemed, what they were feeling. Trust was always an issue with people like themselves, and Lei always seemed defiant to be independent, understandably. She was a strong-willed young woman, and did not like to be ordered around. Anise, respectively, liked to feel in control, but with her shadowed past – what little of it Dmitri was aware of – she was always keen to try and grow close to others, to try and build up what she hoped would be solid, definite relationships… and Sawyer most definitely fell into that category.

                Dmitri hated to admit it, and he would _never_ tell her this, but she had his scent all over her. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but he told himself he should feel happy for her. She had – so it seemed – found someone. He almost envied her… almost.

                "Why do we allow ourselves to be guarded like criminals? Like _prisoners_?" Lei persisted. "It is not our place to _obey_. We will do what we please, and I intend to free myself of this… this vessel."

                "But it is not safe," Anise countered gently, and she hung her head as she said this, almost as though she were not convinced by her own words. It was as though there was some falsehood in them, a lie.

                "And who _says_ it is not safe?" Lei moved around the table, drawing Anise's eye with her own. "Listen to me, Anise… we have grown to trust one another, is this true?" At a nod from her friend, Lei continued, "I thought as much. I do not trust to this… _League_. They are secretive and too mysterious for my liking. I wish to be free of their company. And I intend to leave this vessel of theirs… now. I pray you trust me enough to follow, or at least consider it."

                Anise looked to Dmitri, and then back to Lei, who seemed to catch something in the Frenchwoman's eyes that the Russian missed; "You think you love him, Anise… but think back on your past. You were blackmailed into using him, and he does not fully trust you. He may be using you for his own devices, driven by the company of his _League_. You _think_ you love him… but I see in your eyes some uncertainty."

                Dmitri stood from the table, feeling the charge in the air, the anticipation… he knew what she was going to say before the words even passed from her mouth, and within five minutes, Nemo's guarding sailors were unconscious, and the three were making their escape…

* * *

                Three sets of gleaming, eerie slitted eyes watched from the shadows of the New York alleys as the Russian, Asian and French individuals descended the ramp, fleeing their confines without so much as a thought to their own safety. A growl of mirth slipped from the throat of the alpha female, and she tilted her canine head in anticipation. The two males glanced sidelong at her, and followed stealthily as she broke from her cover to give chase, movements silent and athletic, hearts and minds set on the goal.

                Falx, Gladius and Lacertus ran in formation, the female central, and the males on the edges should anything ambush. The two outer lycanthropes travelled on all fours, whereas Falx stayed bipedal, more human in her travel. Her eyes and acute senses were fixed on her target and her objective, and they did not stray. 

                A gentle thunder played as they padded in a light gallop along the streets of nighttime New York; staying to the shadows and the mysterious alleyways where only the drunks and the whores dare roam. They were too caught up in their own devices to notice the rumble of a growl, or the slight brushing of disturbed air past their hair or cheeks, misplacing it for a breeze or their imaginations. Little did they know their luck, for on any other night, the three would have gorged on the flesh and blood of these lowlifes. 

                But no… not tonight. Even as lightning briefly lit up the darkness, and they were revealed in the blink of an eye in their awesome terror, the three werewolves charged after their quarry, the intent burned into their minds, no thoughts of their own, save for the commands of their master and general.

                With another flash of brief lightning, they were gone, lost in the chase and the shadow.

* * *

                The storm that had been threatening started to break into full being now, and thunder rumbled dominantly in the heavens, as if to wrench it apart, the lightning that followed flashing, forking and streaking across the sky like otherworldly flares. 

                Anise, Dmitri and Lei weren't sure where it was they intended to go, but their feet had some ideas. They had slowed from the jog into a steady, fast-paced walk now, and they were heading through a large clearing in the buildings, some kind of park, silent and mysterious in the night.

                But as one, the three of them stopped, turning their heads to listen, sight around, or smell the air. They froze completely, eyes scanning the shadows and the darkness for any kind of threat. Lei growled, a light sound that disappeared on the breeze, carried away into nothingness.

                They were not alone… they knew it; they could feel it in the air. Their senses had alerted them to the presence, and they recognised it. A growl rose from Dmitri this time, and Anise glanced to her large companion. He was ready… they all were inwardly, but externally, Anise was hesitant… she didn't want to fight unless she had to.

                That was when something burst out of the bushes behind them, crashing down onto all fours with a bestial roar, limbs bristling with dark hair, yellow eyes flashing in a feral manner. It opened its maw threateningly, saliva dripping from its treacherous fangs, and the hackles rose up along its spine. The roar died down into a loud, rumbling snarl.

                Dmitri gave in to the transformation, his shirt torn from his torso as he shifted, body growing and shifting into the werewolf form. His face extended, and he bellowed in a challenge as it did so.

                He stepped in front of the two women protectively, and Anise – if she hadn't been so stunned – would have given him a sharp kick for the masculine instinct. She could take care of herself. But she supposed he knew that, and was just doing what he thought was right.

                But before the two wolves could descend into combat, a pair of shadows melted from their concealment on either side of Anise and Lei, large and intimidating, illuminated only by the brief lightning. The Asian woman succumbed to the lycanthropy in a heartbeat, her body shuddering and changing shape. The form of the woman was lost, and the beast within took over, giving a shake as it did so, crouched low in a predatory stance. She snarled at the wolf to her left, a tall bipedal, gangly creature.

                Anise looked to her companions, and then to their opponents – for that was what they seemed to intend; a fight – wondering if transforming was the best solution. Not that there was much else she _could_ do. She looked to the wolf on her right, a grey, shaggy-haired individual, muscle and thick bone covered by his coarse coat, and he stretched his jaws open wide in a horrible display of power and challenge. It was almost as though he was daring her to change.

                A terrifying sound to her left caused her head to snap in that direction, and she almost gave a shout when she saw Lei pounce upon the bipedal lycanthrope, trying to tear into it with all she had. Her speed was admirable, but the large creature was ducking and dodging backwards and to the sides, avoiding the blows Lei tried to land on it. If Anise had to guess, she would have said the bipedal was female.

                Dmitri gave a bellow of impatience, and ploughed his entire body into the original challenger, who gave a bark of surprise as he was rammed to the ground with the force of an anvil, enough to break human bone.

                The final wolf took to circling Anise curiously; edging closer and closer, until her patience wore away and she kicked it hard in the snout, hearing its jaw crack shut. It pounced upon her, which was precisely when she decided that giving in to the wolf was a smart decision. 

                The other creature was upon her before it had completely taken over, and slammed her into the ground with enough force to jar her head against something solid. She gasped, and felt her senses thrown out of alignment. Her vision swam with colour and light, and she had trouble making sense of anything. The wolf receded within her, and the transformation was lost. She felt the weight pinning her, the hot breath on her face. She could smell the rancid stench of his exhalations, but no teeth or claws tore into her. It had no intention of killing… only trapping.

                She heard the muffled sounds of combat all around her, and wished she could see.

* * *

                Lei snapped and slashed at her fellow combatant, finding only air meeting her teeth and claws where they should have contacted with flesh and bone. She found herself growing angry, impatient and rash. She gave a sharp snarl, and launched herself forward again.

                Lei felt the sudden stinging across her side, and shifting told her that she had been slashed along her shoulder and body. She ignored the pain; it would dissipate and heal, she knew. It bothered her little.

                She tried to close her jaws around the arm that had slashed her, but her teeth crashed down on nothing, before a blow to the head sent her to the floor in a heap. Something in her already-wounded shoulder weakened, and she suppressed the yelp, a sign of weakness. She would not let it out.

                The other werewolf kicked out at her, but Lei rolled swiftly to her feet, and pounced, slamming full-body into her opponent. The two were sent backwards with the force, Lei using her own weight to throw the other fighter to the ground, only to find herself rolled over and nearly crushed. The air was sucked out of her, and she dug her claws on her free arm into what she supposed to be the back of her challenger.

                Her eyes caught sight of Dmitri in the midst of his own combat, faring well. Then she saw Anise, near unconscious and pinned beneath the final creature. She tried to free herself to help her friend, kicking out at the bipedal beast, and feeling her feet come into solid contact with the abdomen. It gave a bark of a noise, and was thrown away.

                Lei scrambled to her feet and tore across the space from where she had been lying, to where the grey werewolf was pinning her companion. With a bellow, she launched, and slammed into the pinning creature, sending him reeling, her claws raking across his back to boot.

                Lei came to stand beside Anise, who she could see was now badly dazed. She moved to step forward, perhaps to assist her friend, when she felt the claws lodge themselves deep into the small of her back, causing her to give a roar of agony.

* * *

                After the weight had been lifted so suddenly, Anise's first instinct had been to suck in a deep breath, which had been when she'd noticed Lei's presence. The roar of agony tore her from the slight relief, and she gave a scream, trying to rise to help. The bipedal werewolf almost grinned manically.

                Lei writhed, trying to twist to defend herself, before the grey wolf slammed his weight down on top of the Asian, and opened his mouth wide with a chilling snarl, eyes blazing with rage and intent, intensified by a flare of lightning and a booming crack of thunder.

                "No!" Anise screamed at the top of her lungs, even as the wolf brought his jaws crashing down around the back of Lei's neck, tightening and tearing. "Dmitri!"

                But looking to where the Russian had been fighting told her that he would be of no use. He had slumped, unconscious, to the ground, incapacitated by the original opponent. The creature paced towards Anise now with a predatory glint in its yellow eyes, cocking its head at her frantic behaviour. She tried to rise, the strength to transform having bled out of her with the blow to the head.

                Before she could get to her feet in time to help, the beast had pressed a large paw-like foot down on her shoulder and forced her back to the ground, gazing at her, before glancing to the other sight.

                Lei was struggling, and had managed to turn onto her back on the ground, attempting to lash out with claws as she was choked, before the teeth _really_ tore into her throat, and blood bubbled from her mouth with a strangled, gargling sound. 

                Anise let the tears surface, no longer able to struggle, only sob quietly as she watched Lei, even as the grey wolf twisted his jaw and wrenched upward, muzzle soaked in thick blood. He gave a snarl and a chilling howl of triumph, joined in the cacophony by his fellows. It was brief, but enough to tell Anise that they had fully intended to kill only one… Lei was dead, and the Frenchwoman forced her eyes to look away as the wolf form lost its stability and started to give in to the human shape.

                Even as the three werewolves crowded around her, Anise allowed herself to give in to the darkness that lingered.

* * *

                They had only been gone from the Nautilus half an hour before Tom Sawyer suddenly stopped, body tensing and his hand gripping so tightly around his Winchester that Quatermain moved over and touched a hand to his shoulder to try and calm him, before the weapon was accidentally set off.

                "What is it, Sawyer?"

                Tom's eyes widened, and he suddenly turned his head in the direction from which they had originally come. "Oh god…" He took off without another word, leaving the others to give chase behind him, wondering what had come over him for him to act so oddly. Mina was the only one capable of speeds comparable to Tom's, and she kept pace just behind him, having heard a noise on the wind herself… she tried to tell herself it hadn't been a howl, when in reality, she was more than convinced.

                They passed small crowds of pedestrians, who leapt aside as Tom and Mina darted past them. They called out words that Mina had always thought should be avoided in polite company, but they were long gone, and far from retaliation. 

                Tom's heart was racing in his chest; Mina could hear it, tried to tell herself she wasn't hungry. 

                But when they broke into the park, all thoughts of food were lost as a terrible sense of dread settled within the pit of her stomach, and weighed her down considerably. Something was wrong… terribly wrong. 

                Tom looked left and right, closing his eyes for a moment, before jogging off again. Mina took a moment before following, recognising the mingling of scents. All werewolves… six scents all together. Five fading… 

                When she caught up with Tom, she realised why, and her face fell into a melancholy expression. Tom simply stood, hovering over the mangled corpse, eyes never wavering. He didn't make a sound, barely breathed, simply stared… transfixed in some kind of horrific way.

                Mina heard the pursuit of the others, and turned her head to see Quatermain, Jekyll, Nemo and Skinner catch up. She threw an icy glance in Skinner's direction before he could complain, and glanced back to Tom.

                Quatermain and the others saw the scene laid out before them, and stopped, frozen in their sadness and dismay. They recognised – only by process of elimination, no doubt – the bloodied corpse at Tom's feet.

                Before any of them could speak, the silence hanging heavily like a tremendous weight between them as the rain started to tumble from the black heavens, Tom moved only slightly, and the Winchester fell from his grasp, his eyes closing as he realised his apparent failure.

                And in that moment, Mina's heart went out to him…


	16. Call of The Wild

**Author's Note: **Finally, the week long ban is over and I'm back! Sorry about that… not playing the blame game, so I won't talk about it. On with the show! Sorry to keep you waiting after that… death, I wrote last time. Crappy title I know, lol.

**Melanie: **Too late…

**RogueSparrow:** Yes, it is depressing, isn't it? Had to be done… it was either her or the big cuddly bear that is Dmitri.

**angelic katty: **Um… Lei died, not Anise… o_O

**Graymoon74: **Me… kill someone? Never! Okay… so I'm actually quite fond of the drama, the death, the tension and the angst, I'll admit, but it's damn fun, lol. 

**Raven Silvers: ***hands you a Kleenex*

**Capt. Cow: **Sorry 'bout that… no wait, that's a _good_ thing, right? That I made you cry over a character you didn't even like… right?

**Sethoz: **Tut tut, Sethoz… lost a few points on the misquote there… ah well. You've done swimmingly so far, so I guess I can let this one slide ^_^ A trap?! The preposterousness of it is… non-existent, lol. Oh, and the points have scooted up again for the Landon recovery at the end there… quite a sad one you picked, but it fits. But Lei went out as a hero… it was probably how she wanted to go. There, there…

**Beck2:** Glad you were pleased. Here's the next chunk.

**LotRseer3350:** Killing Dmitri as well might be a bit harsh… or is it? cue ominous laughter

* * *

                Everything seemed to flow in slow motion for Tom Sawyer when he came across the body… if you could even call it that. The throat was all but gone, blood soaking the ground around it, aided only by the slow drizzle of rain that proceeded to fall harder with every passing moment, each of which seemed to drag into eternity as his eyes locked on the face of the victim that lay at his booted feet. The ground all around the corpse was soft underfoot, ruined by the scarlet oozing from her, and there was a clear shredding of the shoulder, and a gash down one side. Her tattered clothes only added to the horrifying image, and he felt his fingers lose their iron grip on the Winchester rifle.

                It plummeted to the ground, taking an age to land with a dull thud and a light clatter, rain settling on the stock, barrel and firing guard lightly, dripping away from it off of the curves and edges, onto the grassy ground below. And there it stayed, the gun and the rain, amidst the dirt and blood.

                Tom felt the rain run down his hair and face, dripping from his chin and soaking slowly into his duster. He stood there for what felt like agonising hours, letting the trauma of the failure wash over him, his senses dulled to the rest of the world around him.

                Lei Cheung was dead… and it was his fault.

                Guilt tearing through him, his head hung, his hair hanging damply and limply before his brow, his eyes closing in his mourning for the woman he had barely gotten to know. He hadn't even existed peacefully with her. There had always been an air of tension when the two had been close to one another, but that didn't stop the melancholy from taking a firm grip on the American, and squeezing.

                 It was _his_ fault. He had told Lei to stay behind with Dmitri and…

                His head rose, eyes scanning the darkness, widening when the signs of a struggle – or rather, set of struggles – met his gaze. Gouges in the ground, scuffling skids in the dirt, blood. Without even realising, a subconscious action, Tom sniffed the air, and whirled, scanning the area behind him, breathing quickening.

                "Sawyer?"

                Tom ignored the calm voice of Quatermain, and closed his eyes, trying to pick out Anise's scent, before letting his feet guide him directly, still closed away in his own hidden land of darkness, his senses moving his boots along for him. And then, as mysteriously as he had started… he stopped, opening his eyes as he crouched, a wet, dripping hand reaching down to the moist ground below him. His fingertips brushed against the flattened grass, brought away coated in blood.

                He growled, low and bestial, and if he had been a casual observer, he might have seen the silver glint in his own eyes.

                He felt a presence move up behind him, and recognised it to be Mina without even turning his head, saying in a grave manner, "She's gone, and I let them take her."

                "Who?" came the quiet, feminine reply.

                Tom stood and turned so quickly that Mina's eyes opened a fraction wider, almost unnoticeably. "Who do you _think_?" he snapped, and he realised his fists had clenched tightly, the other hand staining with blood from the ground. "And for all I know, she's _dead_, because I left her behind… because I thought I _had_ to."

                Mina did not flinch under his tone, and he knew he was being rash, but everything was building up inside, and he was finding it hard to control all of a sudden. He stared, coldly, the rain falling all around, and felt it trickle down the back of his shirt, sending an ignored shiver down his spine. 

                Suddenly, everyone in the background appeared very uncomfortable. Jekyll flinched noticeably, and Skinner's eyebrows rose. Nemo cocked his head curiously, and Quatermain furrowed his brow, dropping his jaw just a little.

                And Mina sucked in a slight gasp, something very unusual from the vampire.

                If Tom could have seen his own eyes, he might have understood their reactions. Nevertheless, no one voiced their surprise; they all stayed silent on the matter, knowing he was angry, and that was the reason for the silver melting into his eyes, overwhelming the normal, soothing shade of green.

                And then he closed his eyes, pushing it back subconsciously – for he hadn't even realised what it was that he had done – and sighed heavily. He moved past Mina, glancing coolly at her one last time, and scooped his gun up from the floor with one hand, feeling the comforting weight, easier to heft now. 

                He walked to the others, without saying a word, and then stopped, silent and intimidating in his ever-prepared posture. It was an unintentional force of habit now though, it seemed, to forever be on the alert for danger, every sense highly tuned to pick out the signs and give him forewarning. 

                _I have to go after her… I can follow her scent. She's still alive; I **know **it. I can feel it._

                But it was obvious that the _League _weren't just going to let him rush off and potentially get himself killed… not that he cared about the risk. He just cared – perhaps instinctively – about getting Anise back. Dmitri too, since there were no signs of his body. He just hoped they were more or less all right wherever they were… he knew there was no use in hoping they were completely unharmed. Anise's blood gave enough evidence of _that_.

                He stood – inwardly seething – next to Quatermain, his whole body tensed like a spring coiled, ready to set loose and pounce into action… perhaps quite literally. 

                Mina stood, hovering where he had left her for a while, before glancing back over her shoulder and saying coolly, - but not unsympathetically – "I am sorry, Agent Sawyer."

                "No you're not," he whispered harshly, eyes down turned. "You don't care… don't pretend that you do."

                The rain and the storm carried on around them, the _League_ being respectively soaked and torn about by the slight breeze, whereas the vampire and the werewolf spy stayed lodged in place, as if rooted. Their eyes locked intensely as lightning flashed, and Quatermain let his gaze cast between them, trying to figure out how to unravel the troubles amidst the two.

                "I _do_ care, Tom," Mina retaliated, and she turned to face him properly, the rain flattening her hair against her head and shoulder, still pinned back but now dripping with water. "I cannot understand why you think I do not."

                "Why should you?" Tom retorted, shrugging in an exaggerated fashion, narrowing his eyes, even as rain trickled down his cheeks and along his brow. He ignored it, as though it were not there. He raised his arms slightly, out to the side, as if showing he was perhaps challenging her in her claim. "You've never cared about her… or about me, really. I don't care… I don't let it bother me anymore, but this is serious. They took Anise, and I'm going to get her _back_, whether you help me or not!"

                "Sawyer, calm down."

                "I _am_ calm," Tom snapped, looking swiftly to Quatermain, who did not flinch or waver in his gaze.

                "No you're not," Quatermain told him calmly, and swiftly persisted to avoid retaliation from the younger man, "and it's obvious you're taking this attack personally. I understand that. If they _are_ after you, as it was suggested, then this is a clear ploy to get you out into the open, where you're vulnerable, perhaps even lure you to wherever they are." There was a pause here, long and painful. "But… you cannot know they are still alive."

                Tom stared, as thunder rolled along in the heavens. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes…" he said, "… I can."

                And with that, he turned, walking away steadily into the trees at the edge of the park, without waiting for anyone else. He heard a voice call after him, recognising it as Quatermain, but simply closed his eyes and let his senses guide him.

                He just _had_ to find her… he couldn't lose her again…

* * *

                "Are we just gonna let him walk off then?" Skinner blurted, gesturing into the darkness where Sawyer had disappeared. He sloshed along the mushy ground to face Quatermain, and then glanced to Mina, saying, "Well? Anyone gonna go after the kid before he does something stupid?"

                Mina and Quatermain were looking pointedly at each other, Skinner noticed, and it seemed there was an issue of command. Rolling his eyes, thankful no one could see it, he said, "Oh, come on, people, we don't have time for disputes about leadership. Sawyer's gonna get himself killed or captured or whatever if we let him just storm off like that… no pun intended." Lightning had flashed overhead as he had said that, and he eerily noticed the glint of something undistinguishable in Jekyll's eye. The man shook his head, as though internally arguing with Hyde, and Skinner let it slip past. Nemo was annoyingly silent and nonchalant.

                The rain fell down silently around them for a few irritating moments – each of which signalled Sawyer's continuing distance from them, and his straying farther and farther into danger – until Quatermain took in a deep breath that caused his chest to heave.

                "If we are to go after Sawyer, we had best not delay. With his new abilities, he could have taken off at a run as soon as he hit the trees, and it won't take us long to lose him." Quatermain glanced to his companions, and Skinner saw the readiness in their eyes. Mina paced to the tree line, turning her head back and forth, and seemingly sniffing the air.

                "I can track him, but the winds will make it more difficult than usual. We should leave immediately, as Quatermain said." Mina seemed to be in agreement with the 'great white hunter', and for that, Skinner was glad. The last thing they needed was an argument about leadership. It appeared as though the two could share, at least for the time being.

                There was a time and place for debate… this certainly was not it.

* * *

                Sebastian Woods let himself into the room with a flourish as he pushed the doors inward, and smiled at his three soldiers as they stood before the heavily reinforced cage, looking in on their two… 'guests'. They appeared to both be unconscious, but he knew they would prove less than cooperative when back amongst the world of the aware and living.

                Falx, Gladius and Lacertus simultaneously turned their glazed eyes towards him as he entered, and half-bowed their heads in recognition of his superiority. He gave them a curt nod, and walked over, saying in a loud, clear voice, "I see this time you were more successful with your quarry." He paused, and an odd smile crept onto his lips, causing lines to mar his face from age. "I also see that the numbers have dwindled… 'misadventure'?"

                As usual, it was Gladius who addressed him, the speaker for the three – he supposed he should make that their title, but it would become useless when the fourth member showed up, which would be soon, hopefully, if all went according to plan. In a smooth American accented voice, Gladius reported, "Yes, sir. She was proving problematic and had to be exterminated."

                "No matter. She wasn't the one we were interested in anyway." Woods' grey eyes settled upon the feminine figure in the cage, lying on her back with her eyes closed, looking almost peaceful in her unconsciousness. Her dark hair was still damp from the slight drizzle that had started to fall before the three had returned with their quarries, and he noticed her clothes were intact… she had not transformed. 

                The three themselves were back in black, as it were. They always utterly destroyed their attire when transforming, and it bothered Woods very little that he quite often had to replace their clothing. It wasn't like it could not be afforded, anyway. What was a little expense for new attire when the state of the government was at stake, quite literally?

                The way his country worked… it disgusted Sebastian… it really did. There was chaos and disorder everywhere he turned, and the President was a mindless fool, being used like a puppet by the very men who were responsible for the order and safety of America. He couldn't let it continue. And he planned to use the very men – and women in this case he supposed – they had specially trained to protect said government, to destroy it… to tear it down from the inside, with such ferocity and savagery that they would have no choice but to bend to Sebastian's orders and ideas.

                He would bring order to chaos, oh yes… he would save his fine country and put her back on her feet. She was just wounded… she was not broken yet. She could be saved, and he intended to see that she was.

                Just then, another man walked into the room, throwing Woods a curt salute. Sebastian did not return it, simply snapped, "What is it?"

                "Our lookouts along the street have spotted something, sir… something you might be interested in. _Very_ interested."

                Sebastian understood the meaning, hidden in the words, and strode from the room, his three elite right behind him, perfectly in stride with one another, black dusters swaying out behind them like shadows of death and doom… to sound melodramatic. They really were messengers of death… wherever they went, people were harmed and destruction was visited upon the worthy of such treatment.

                They made it all the way to the brain of the organisation, wherein several men turned their heads to meet their collective gaze. Many visibly edged back at the sight of the werewolves in human form, and Sebastian rolled his eyes none too discreetly.

                _Pathetic… they won't be harmed, don't they realise this? So long as they follow orders…_ Sebastian walked up to his right-hand man, Edmunds, and demanded, "What's going on?"

                Edmunds turned his blue eyes to Sebastian, and replied in a crisp voice, saying, "Well, sir, something you might enjoy. It seems we're going to get a visitor… in the form of a certain Special Agent."

                Inwardly, Sebastian was triumphant. It was going quicker than he had anticipated, and he had expected Sawyer to at least return to the Nautilus for a regrouping before heading to their headquarters, which he had no doubt found via the Frenchwoman's scent. 

                "Excellent news." He turned his head to the three. "Good work. Go and guard our 'guests'. Sawyer will make his way to you. He is _not_ to be harmed… not unless it is absolutely necessary, do you understand me?"

                A combined nod was his answer, even as another of the suited men – Mannings was his name – ventured to say, "But, sir, won't he heal?"

                "Open your mouth again, and I'll show you just _why_ I don't want those three letting themselves go, understand?" Even as Sebastian spoke, the three dismissed themselves from the room, no longer needed. Mannings fell utterly silent and dejected, but not daring to say or do anything else. 

                Sebastian settled himself rather triumphantly into a leather chair, and sighed quietly, glancing knowingly to Edmunds, who grinned slyly.

* * *

                The rain was still pelting down, and his temper rose dramatically with each flash of eerie lightning, each rumble of threatening thunder. He gripped his Winchester so tightly in his hand he thought he might crack or shatter the stock, and at least bend the lever. His other hand was balled into a tight fist, and he knew he was being watched. He didn't care… couldn't have cared less even if he had put serious effort into it.

                He ignored the rain running down his face and dripping from his hair, weighing down his black cloth jacket and pants, not to mention collecting only marginally in the soles of his boots, squelching very slightly whenever he took a long stride towards the building he had homed in on as containing Anise and Dmitri's scent. In truth, he had only really followed Anise's… it was more… comforting to him, and therefore what he had picked up on more prominently.

                His senses were all on the alert, but he barely seemed to notice, as he strode right up to the building in front of him, without a care for his own safety. Normally, he would have watched the building for a while; staked out the activity around it and determined a stealthy way in. Right now… he shunned all of that for directness. 

                Kicking out with a solid boot, he felt it connect with the frame of the front door to the building. It was knocked inwards with enough force to splinter it, and he raised the rifle at once, blasting right into the first man he saw. The man was thrown back with the impact, and he quickly turned the gun on the next figure, cocking his head as the guard reached instinctively for his own trigger.

                "No…" was all Tom said, more or less in a growl, but it appeared the guard had already reconsidered, and was moving away from the door he had been standing beside, the same with the other man on the mirrored side of the barricade. "Good idea," Tom mumbled, and kept his eyes on them as he moved. 

                The guards sidled nonchalantly aside, and he knew he should have been more aware of the suspiciousness of their actions, but he simply opened the door, and slipped inside, slamming it behind him, discarding discretion.

                He sprinted down the stairs, following their spiral agilely, and with the stealth and spryness becoming a hunter, as he jogged along the corridor leading away from the area of descent. Tom followed the scent, realising it was becoming stronger and ignored many doors – no doubt locked, not that it would have stopped him – on his way to the room he didn't know the position of yet… he could just _smell_ it, with her inside.

                And others… Dmitri… and… and _them_. Tom growled despite himself, and gave in to the burst of speed he knew had been waiting to erupt since he had entered the building where Anise was being held.

                And when he reached the door, he shoved aside patience and care, and slammed bodily into it, sending it half off its hinges to rock precariously from the frame. Tom let out a growl as he saw three figures standing before a large, imposing cage, the bars stretching like thick trunks from floor to ceiling, clearly made of metal. 

                They stood nonchalantly in a row, regarding him almost in a bored fashion… at least until he rose the barrel of the Winchester.

                And fired.


	17. Too Little, Too Late

**Author's Note: **Had a burst of creativity, and wrote this on the same day as 16, but decided to pace myself. Ack! *ducks thrown objects* **_But_**, I didn't get it all finished… just got a chunk of it done… sadly. I had the full intention of writing it all in one go, but… I don't know what happened. I've been watching the Van Helsing trailer, and so have been inspired  ^_^

**drowchild: **Awesome? Many thanks. Gotta love the attitude, right? He's got all that bestial instinct and energy, and he's letting it out the only way he knows how… and I'm having far too much fun with it, lol. Glad you love the adapting they're all putting theirselves through… hmm, that made little to no sense. Ah well. Cliffhangers… gotta love 'em!

**Graymoon74:** Poor Tom, 'eh? He likes to jump in headfirst… sigh. Will he ever learn? Hope the storm added tension… that was what I was going for. Captured and tortured? … Me? Never… would I? *sly smile* *quickly wipes smile off face* I'm saying nothing. You like Sebastian? Hey, I don't hate you… that's kinda cool. You're the only one… but someone's gotta like him… right?

**angelic katty: **I'm sure she does as well. Shame Tommy-Boy can't see that.

**LotRseer3350:** Wow? Thanks! Very kind of you to say that… perhaps too kind, but I thank you anyway. Glad I'm welcomed back. Hope this was fast enough for you.

**Sethoz: **Wow, calm down there, Sethoz. Don't overly-lavish me with compliments, cuz it wasn't all that amazing. I had to do the silver eyes at one point… I just had to. The temptation was too great! Hehehehe, ah yes, the 'bored' werewolves… then, hello, gun! Mwahahaha! Kicking the door down was your favourite bit? Cool. Glad you liked. Every hero has to do that… right? Isn't it like a rule or something? A trap… oh my, did you see that coming by any chance? Wasn't too obvious was it? ; ) Argh, I know that quote from the film but I can't bloody place it! : ( Darn it… sigh, now I'll have to watch it again… what a shame : )

**Rogue Sparrow: **He's cool anyway, but add a touch of lycanthropy, and BAM, uber-coolness! Lol.

**Melanie: **You love me…? Aw, thanks… don't hear that much. And I'm very glad you love it. And don't worry, I've got the _Ghosts of Old_ chapter open right now, and I'm working on it *clacks on keys* See? I am trying! Please don't hurt me! Good instinct about the vampire-werewolf distrust thing too. ^_^

**Silversnow: **Welcome to the story, my friend! A werewolf fight? Hmm… kinda inevitable, right? Lol. You might be disappointed in _this_ chapter, but rest assured, I can only avoid one for so long.

**NightinBelle:** Hello there, and welcome. I'm so glad you love this, and that I can entertain and possibly make you happy. Very, _very_ kind of you to say so. I hope you enjoy the new chapter, and the ones to follow.

Thanks everyone! And now, for Chapter 17 of **_By The Light of The Moon…_** **__**

* * *

                The three werewolves threw themselves in seemingly predetermined directions as they dodged the dangerous projectile that exploded from the barrel of Sawyer's Winchester rifle. Falx threw herself agilely forward and down into a practised roll that she pulled off with astounding ease. Gladius and Lacertus leapt swiftly to their respective sides, and also rolled away. Lacertus leapt up against the wall like a cat, and rebounded off it, using it as leverage to propel himself forwards, at his target. A bullet zipped past his ear, narrowly missing him, even as his eyes flashed yellow.

                Gladius skirted along the wall with astounding speed and ease, coming up alongside and behind Sawyer so that he could not back out the door through which he had entered. The fellow – free thinking – American answered the blockade by ramming the stock backwards and into Gladius' shoulder with a resounding thud. He snarled, loudly, and used Falx's pounce to reach forward and tear the gun from Sawyer's hands.

                Falx ploughed bodily into Sawyer, and rammed him back, just as Lacertus slammed into him from the left and knocked him off balance in that direction. Gladius simply regarded the weapon, before tossing it aside in a nonplussed manner, and leaping into the action himself with a carefree expression of indifference.

                Sawyer lashed out with hands and feet, catching the three other werewolves in the face, legs and abdomen, seemingly to no affect. They worked on pinning him to the ground, but he gave a yell of frustration, and heard it finish off as a kind of roar, loud and intimidating… normally.

                Gladius punched him in the face, hard across the jaw, snapping his head to the side and stunning him with the power behind the blow, even as Lacertus twined his fingers in the blonde curls of hair, damp and limp from the rain, as Falx reached inside her inner jacket pocket.

                Though he struggled vehemently, almost admirably, Sawyer was unable to remove himself from the pin, and felt the lycanthropy starting to rise as his rage bubbled to a dangerous level. He growled loudly, the sound bubbling up from his throat and through his gritted teeth as he grabbed blindly at his attackers.

                Falx pulled a syringe from her jacket, and a small bottle, one of her knees pressed down firmly on Sawyer's waist, even as he struggled. Gladius took hold of his jaw ruthlessly, gripping tightly and making the younger man wince.

                She quickly and with precision, filled the needle, checking there was no air in the liquid, before using the grip Gladius had on Sawyer to inject it into the side of his neck, hearing him give a slight cry… she was being less than gentle. She smiled cruelly as his struggles started to lessen, and his lycanthropic strength failed him.

                He started to lose grip on Lacertus and Gladius, and one of his hands fell away from the shirt of the latter, who released Sawyer's jaw. Lacertus loosened his fingers from Sawyer's hair, and stood from his pinning position, easily prying the other man's hand from his jacket. Gladius rose to his feet, even as Sawyer's eyes closed, and he slumped entirely into drugged unconsciousness.

                Falx, Gladius and Lacertus exchanged subtlely triumphant gazes, and then turned from the defeated American Agent, intent of reporting their success to Sebastian Woods.

* * *

                Sebastian looked up from his paperwork when Falx, Gladius and Lacertus strode in confidently, with only slight signs of struggle. They were all in one piece, and none of them showed any signs of recent transformation… and Sebastian and the others had heard the gunshot. 

                "Do we have him?"

                "Yes, sir," came the slightly gloating tone of Gladius. To be truthful, Sebastian was starting to forget what it was that the other two sounded like… not that he cared. Silent and obedient was just how he liked his soldiers.

                "Excellent. You know what to do with him. Mannings, take a team and lend a hand. The drug should suppress the change for a few hours yet." Sebastian had looked back down at his paperwork through his spectacles by this point, and felt more than saw Mannings' hesitation, disregarding it entirely. If the man was afraid, then he was really in the wrong organisation. He knew their job well enough, and should have grown accustomed to it by now. 

                He heard the men leave, and woman respectively, and let the pleased smile slip across his face, slowly but surely. It had taken less time than he had hoped, or planned… not that he minded at all. It was actually quite favourable.

                _Not long now…_

* * *

                Her head turned to the side, and she groaned quietly, pain swimming lingeringly at the rear of her skull, where she had slammed it against something solid earlier. She opened her eyes slowly, and saw Dmitri lying on his stomach across the… they were in a cage, a rather large formidable cage from the looks of it. She rose into a sitting position, reaching back with her hand and feeling the wound beneath the hair. It was closing up already, thankfully. The last thing she wanted or needed was a concussion.

                She whispered harshly to her unconscious friend, hoping to rouse him by calling his name… to no avail. He simply lay there, still breathing, but unaware of the world around him, or their dilemma.

                That was when she heard the slight clanging of chain, and she turned her head in the other direction, cursing audibly in French, "_Merde_…" 

                Towards the middle of the room, a kind of frame had been set up, two long thick bars of strong metal were fixed firmly to the floor and ceiling respectively, with one crossing over the middle about seven feet up on either side. Hanging from the bar were leather straps and chains, twined together to reinforce. From the very bottoms of the poles were identical restraints, though with shorter reach. Also hanging down from the middle bar up above, between the chain and leather straps, was a kind of… she couldn't tell what it was made of, but it stretched down further than the other restraints. 

                Following all of the restraints along to their cuffs and buckles, the form hanging limply – clearly in the grips of unconsciousness – from them, was Tom Sawyer. He looked unharmed, and mostly untouched, save for the binding of his ankles and wrists – and even bound around the forearm near to his elbow by the leather restraints – by both chain and strap. The final restraint was looped around his neck, a kind of collar, Anise noted with a snarl. She could see, though his head was bowed, that he was gagged, at least for now… he was utterly trapped in the frame.

                But somehow, Anise had the impression that Tom would far from accept such a capture when he woke up… _far_ from it.

* * *

                Tom had only been awake for about five minutes, having roused himself mostly by force from the drug-induced slumber. Now he was pulling with all his mustered strength on the chains and leather straps binding his hands and feet, though he was careful not to wrench his head back or forward, for fear of choking himself on the makeshift collar… which was probably the most infuriating thing about his restraint.

                The leather bit into his bare wrists, and the manacles attached to the chains chafed his skin, but he bit down hard on the gag and gave another tug with all the force he could bring up, after only just regaining consciousness.

                His instinct upon waking had been to transform and literally tear himself from the frame that had been set up, but upon trying… it had quickly been discovered that he could not. The drug the woman had given him… he surmised it had not only been intended to render him unconscious, but also take away that ability. His strength was less than it should have been as well, and he felt oddly put off by the fact that he was more or less back to his old self.

                His hair was in his eyes as he glared pointedly at the three who had overwhelmed him, and he noticed that the more imposing of the two men was spinning Tom's own Winchester in his hands, over and over again, almost teasingly. Their expressions were eerily blank, and they simply stared back at him, as if watching and waiting to see if he could break away from the trappings.

                Tom growled into the thick cloth, and clenched his fists, giving a mighty tug on his left ankle, hearing chain clatter against the frame, fixed rigidly against the floor and ceiling. The leather creaked as he fought against it, and he was soon panting from the exertion. 

                But on the plus side… he had found Anise, and she was alive. She was watching him with clear concern from the far corner, in the very cage where the three other werewolves had been waiting for him upon his arrival.

                _I should have waited for the _League_; brought them with me_, he thought, shifting his feet slightly on the floor. He had noticed they had removed his jacket, but left him otherwise fully clothed, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. Whether or not to be concerned or grateful… no, not grateful. He wasn't sure what to make of it, that was all. Instead of concerning himself with something so inconsequential and trivial, he gave another great thrash against the restraints, growling into the fabric of the gag, and closing his eyes with the exertion.

                The click of the newly – and rather swiftly – replaced door opening diverted his attention for just a moment, and he tugged on the chains and straps again, before raising his eyes to glance at the new arrival… he instantly froze, recognising the man. He had seen him before, a few times, and when he looked once again to the gathered trio of werewolves in their human shapes, he realised he had seen the one twirling his Winchester before… though the man's name escaped him.

                Sebastian Woods… that was the name of this other man, wearing the expensive suit and a cocky smile, even as he strode right up to Tom and pulled the gag clean from his mouth without breaking stride. He took an instinctual step back, even as Tom tried to break free again, infuriated by the revelation as to the man's identity.

                His eyes locked firmly with the fellow American, and he scowled, saying simply, "You… you did all this."

                "Hello to you too, Agent Sawyer," Woods returned, regarding the cloth gag in his hands before discarding it to one side with a casual throw. Tom shifted on one foot, wishing he had more slack so he could slam his boot into the bastard's knee. He was close enough for it; Tom just didn't have enough movement.

                In all the time he'd known Sebastian Woods – who was rather high up in the ranks of the Secret Service if Tom's memory served him correctly – the man had never seemed capable of something like this… something so… insane. He had always seemed a little detached from the system and its rules, but never had Tom conceived the man would create something like this. He knew the government was most definitely unaware of what was going on down here, in this building, so far from the Secret Service Headquarters.

                Tom locked gazes with Woods, and narrowed his eyes accusingly, angrily, trying to will the transformation. Woods laughed, seeing the concentration on the young American's face. He nodded, even as he said, "Keep trying, Agent Sawyer… it'll wear off soon anyway."

                Tom pushed it all back then… it was what Woods wanted. He could see the yearning in the man's cold eyes, and he fell suddenly silent. Woods regarded him for a moment, before a noise behind them distracted all attention. Many sets of eyes fell upon the youngest of the three werewolves, who touched a hand to his head, and closed his eyes tightly, hissing through his teeth and groaning.

                "What did you do to them?" Tom asked, contemptuously. He looked to Woods, who did not take his eyes off the clearly pained young man across the room. He snapped his fingers at one of the other men, and gestured silently, looking back to Tom.

                "I did what I had to. They're serving their country; it's what they signed up for after all… what _you_ signed up for."

                "You son of a bitch," Tom grumbled. "You're _using_ them…"

                Woods backhanded him, hard, across the face, but Tom simply shook it off and glared firmly at the older man. Woods turned his attention back on the young werewolf across the room, who was being approached by two of the men. The other lycanthropes beside him turned upon him, and Tom noticed the one he recognised cocked back the hammer on the Winchester. A growl resonated around the room.

                Suddenly, the young man lashed out at the approaching men, who leapt back and away, avoiding the strikes. The woman surged forwards, gripping him tightly and slamming him against the wall, his back connecting with a resounding thud that made Tom wince. The youngest werewolf let out a cry, and allowed it to melt into a chilling mix of a growl and a bellow. Her hand latched tightly around his throat, and she threw a scolding glare at the two human men. They quickly scurried forward, and one pulled a needle from his pocket, filling it with precision and practised ease.

                No matter how much the male werewolf struggled and roared his fury, he was soon injected, and his thrashing lessened, before he was heard to pant and seen to close his eyes calmly and slowly. He relaxed visibly, and when his eyes opened again, he was back to his nonchalant self.

                Tom's head turned to Woods, who was glancing at him, head tilted to the side in a kind of mocking expression. "You see, Agent Sawyer… it is easier this way. They underwent a change… they're no longer the people who signed up to protect this country, but that doesn't mean we should discard them altogether. No." He shook his head. "I found a way to use the lycanthropy."

                "For you own benefit," Tom snapped.

                "Not exactly. I have this country's best interests at heart… believe me. She's failing, and I _cannot_ allow that. Don't you see the decay and perversion all around you? It's a disease that will destroy America!"

                "You're crazy!" Tom yelled at him, and thrashed against the restraints again, feeling a little more of the supernatural strength flood back into his bound limbs. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, tugging for all he was worth.

                Wood simply watched, and glanced to the far corner, where Anise stood at the front of the cage, shutting off the view to Dmitri. The Russian was still unconscious, and Tom didn't dare think about what they may have done to him. He opened his eyes again, and stared to Woods, demanding, "_Why_ did you kill her? You didn't need her… you didn't want her. _Why_?"

                Woods laughed then, rather loudly. "Oh, why do you care, Sawyer? I've heard that you didn't exactly get along with the woman anyway, so why does it bother you that Falx and Gladius put her out of her misery?" He shrugged in an exaggerated fashion, and placed his hands in his pockets, carefree and feigning boredom, much to Tom's chagrin. "Now… you notice I granted you one… grace, shall we say?" He indicated the cage with a nod of his head. "_She's_ still alive, isn't she? And the male. I could have easily had them disposed of, like the other… but I chose to spare them. I could have lured you here some other way, but… this just seemed more worthwhile somehow."

                Tom was breathing heavily now, with the anger, and he wanted to give in to the lycanthropic side of the rage… but he knew that was what Woods wanted. He had just seen a perfect example of why he shouldn't give in. They had used it against the youngest – and so far unidentified – werewolf, who was now placid and expressionless. Their identities and memories had been wiped, clearly, and they were being controlled by some kind of drug… he just didn't know what.

                "Where are my manners?" Woods inquired, mostly of himself, and chuckled quietly, half turning to regard his three 'soldiers'. He indicated them with a hand in turn as he spoke their names… no, they weren't names, they were titles. "Falx-" – he pointed to the fiery haired woman who had injected Tom, her light eyes boring into the chained American – "Gladius-" – the man spinning the gun again inclined his head slightly, clearly filled with brutal strength and loving every minute – "and young Lacertus." The last was the one who had seemingly come out of his stupor momentarily not long ago, and he simply blinked, slow and casual. His brown eyes watched Tom lazily, looking through black bangs of curled hair. 

                All three wore jet-black clothing, from their clearly steel-toe-capped boots, to their cloth dusters of varying lengths. Three sets of equally nonplussed eyes gazed at him, somewhat eagerly and hungrily. A subtle shiver ran up and down his spine once, before Woods' voice brought him crashing back out of his reverie, "And, of course, I'm sure you've figured out, that three will soon become four."

                Tom shook his head vehemently. "No… I won't. I won't kill innocent people for you and your sick intentions…"

                Woods sighed dramatically, and rolled his eyes. "Damn you young agents and your morals! You don't understand the danger; can't possibly comprehend the urgency. You're too volatile – just like them – to deal with this, and have to be made to see reason."

                "By being drugged and brainwashed?"

                "If that what it takes to save this country, then _yes_, so be it! I've already sacrificed more than you know to try and get this programme to work, and I won't let you or your whore destroy it!"

                A slight growl rose up into Tom's throat, but he choked it back, seething with rage, and never removing his icy gaze from the man who had insulted Anise. Over in the corner, she simply lifted her chin slightly, trying to show she would not allow herself to be put down by the man. Tom respected her for that. 

                "Whether you like it or not, Sawyer, you will complete this organisation. More worthy candidates than you were sacrificed to perfect the programme, and I won't let you simply refuse. It's not that easy. I've worked _too_ long and _too_ hard to have some hot-headed child like you deny me the chance I have been fighting for in order to save this country."

                "You're not trying to save this country. You're power crazed, Woods, and you know it."

                Tom received a fist in the stomach for that comment, just about knocking the wind out of him, before Woods followed up with a firm punch to the jaw, and then another.

                Anise called his name, only to go without reward of reply. Tom refused to make a sound, other than slight gasps as the air was slammed out of his lungs from another blow.

                "C'mon, Sawyer… I know you're angry," Woods grumbled to him, practically down his ear, as he punched him again, harder. Tom grunted, clamping his eyes closed as Woods persisted, "Why hold back? You know you want to hurt me, so what's stopping you? _She_ wants you to… she's worried." Woods slammed his fist into Tom's stomach again, and then backhanded him across the face. "Maybe I should just start beating her instead? Would that get a reaction out of you?"

                Tom growled, loudly, the rumbling snarl seeping forth from his throat as he glared harshly back at Woods, eyes narrowed in a threat, accompanied by the dangerous grumbling.

                "Atta boy…" Woods said quietly, and smiled crookedly. "I knew it was in there somewhere."

                _Don't give in to him… he's trying to trick you._ The lupine bestial urges deep inside fought against the reason at the front of his mind, tearing into it and forcing it back and to the rear, the anger emerging and making him grimace furiously. 

                Woods reached out a hand for something, and one of his men passed him an elongated metallic rod, which he passed from hand to hand. He stared at Tom, and then walked away, over towards the cage, where Anise did not waver or draw away from the bars. She simply set her jaw in defiance, moments before Woods rammed the rod through the opening, and into her stomach, and she screamed, knees weakening visibly.

                "No, leave her alone!" Tom yelled frantically, tugging and thrashing desperately against the bonds to try and free himself, his anger building by the second, doubling and building into a crescendo, even as Woods caused Anise to let out a scream of agony again. Tom didn't know what Woods was doing to her… he just knew he _had_ to stop him, any way he knew.

                That was when he felt it, almost like a burden lifted from within him, and he let out a loud threatening growl of bestial anger, releasing the tension in his limbs into the transformation, his strength flooding back into him like water bursting from a broken dam. The growl rose into a roar, and he gave a mighty tug against the restraints on his left wrist and arm, tearing them completely from the frame with a crash and a snap, the bar overhead rattling worryingly. 

                The three simply watched with intrigue, cocking their heads and never betraying their emotions.

                The other men instantly surged into action, even as Woods turned from his torturing Anise – who slumped back into the cage, panting and clutching at her abdomen as she watched with horror what was happening to Tom – and smiled broadly.

                "There it is! I knew it was in there somewhere… I knew you couldn't hold it back forever."

                Tom didn't hear him, was too busy forcing the transformation up, even as he let out another roar, and felt his ribcage start to shift. A loud crack was heard, before one of the men bellowed for the three werewolves to help him. He was trying to hold Tom back, to no avail. Tom gave a jerk on his freed arm, and sent the man tumbling pathetically to the floor with a yelp. The restraints around his right ankle gave, the frame rattling again, and Tom snarled once more, loud and furious.

                A strong hand latched around his throat, squeezing slightly, and forcing his head up and back, even as he gritted his teeth against it, trying to free his other limbs, the strain obvious in his muscles. Another hand gripped his freed arm, and tightened ruthlessly, threatening to snap bone if he didn't desist in his thrashing and struggling. He paid no heed to it, and the final hand rammed into his abdomen as a fist. He barely felt it, but it was enough to jar him both physically and mentally. Sounds and images from the surroundings started to filter into his raging mind, and he growled again, even as he heard Woods shouting orders.

                _Stop… this is wrong, this is what they wanted!_

                Again, it was forced back, and moments after, he felt the needle force into his neck from behind, and he winced, before whatever was in the syringe plunged into him, and he instantly started to feel his awareness slipping away. And it wasn't that the strength was being drained like before… he no longer felt compelled to use it. It receded, and his struggles lessened considerably, his breathing becoming more relaxed.

                Falx was the first to release him, her hand falling from his neck as she stepped back. Gladius let go of his freed arm, which fell to his side. Lacertus – who had been the one to punch him – stayed close, but not intrusively so, even as Tom's head hung as much as it could with the collar strapped around his neck.

                Woods stalked over slowly, and steadily, tossing the rod to one of his men, and pulled up Tom's head by his hair, seeing the glazed expression on his face, the blankness in his normally bright green eyes. He gave no resistance, and looked right into Woods' gaze, even as the older man said sternly, "Exuro." He released Tom's hair, slowly but surely, and the head stayed where it had been placed.

                There was a long silence, and Woods signalled for his men to release the remaining restraints. They did so hesitantly, but without complaint, and unlocked the chain manacles, loosening and freeing Tom of the leather straps, before removing the makeshift collar. The now unresisting American stood silently and without protest in front of Woods, much to the shock and dismay of Anise, who tried calling his name. He did not react.

                "Someone shut her up," Woods ordered sternly, never removing his eyes from Tom's. Falx and Gladius moved off to do just that. There was an abrupt yell, and then everything fell quiet again. Once more, Tom did not move. "Exuro," he repeated, firmly and clearly.

                This time, Tom lowered his eyes, a clear submissive movement, averting his previously challenging gaze. He stared down lower, his head slightly bowed in recognition of Woods' superiority.

                Woods allowed the satisfied smile to rise onto his features, and nodded to Lacertus, who inclined his head slightly as acknowledgement to the silent order. With that, Woods left the room.

                When the blonde head rose again, it was not Tom Sawyer… it was Exuro.


	18. Creep

**Author's Note:** Well, I tried to get this one up as soon as possible, so I wouldn't get hate mail or death threats after making everyone's favourite American evil… is there a cure do you ask? Well… you shall hath to wait an see, shan't you? Bwahaha!

**drowchild: **Oh did he now? *feigns ignorance* Okay… who am I kidding? You saw what you saw…

**LotRseer3350:** Me? Kill Anise? Ne- wait… I did that before, didn't I? *scratches head* Hmm…

**Graymoon74:** Um… the drugs all come from the chemist? Just trying to find new ways to mentally torture my readers too, Bwahaha! Hence the cruelty to Anise, heehee. Didn't see that coming did you? *wink* 

**Sethoz: **Hmm… methinks I shocked you. Excellent! Painful way… oh dear. Don't want to be killed in a painful way… that would be… painful. 

**Raven Silvers: ***is shaken* Ah! Ack! Stop shaking me! My brain – what little I have left – will be reduced to mushy nothingness! I need my brain!

**funyun:** If you imagine the frame like an H shape, you've pretty much got it, but the crossbar is higher up *wink*. 

* * *

                The scent was fading quickly with the wind, and so Mina had taken to jogging once they had cleared the other side of the woods, breaking into the streets of New York, trying desperately to keep a hold on her tracking of Agent Sawyer. He could be in grave danger, she knew, and she would never be able to forgive herself should something happen to him… whatever that something may be. She already felt guilty for allowing a rift to grow between them, all because of their instincts. Vampires and werewolves had never shared a peaceful existence, but she should never have allowed that to affect their working relationship… not to mention their friendship. She just hoped, if everything turned out in their favour in the end, that they would be able to return to some semblance of normalcy.

                Behind her were the rest of the _League_, what remained of them anyway: Allan Quatermain, carrying his prized elephant gun, no doubt fully loaded with spares at the ready; Rodney Skinner, willing to shed his visibility aids at any moment in order to be of use; Captain Nemo, his scabbard clinking lightly, and a flare gun at his belt – he had just signalled for assistance, and assured the _League_ he was wearing some sort of tracking device in order to aid their arrival; and finally, Dr. Jekyll, carrying one or two vials of his formula on his person should Hyde be needed… which he probably would quite soon.

                They pushed out of the shadows, and into a long street, devoid of life, save for something only Mina could smell clearly… lookouts, up on the rooftops. Without warning, she burst into a cloud of bats, squeaking and screeching, and spiralled up and away, headed for the perches where the men were hidden. They could not hide from her.

                The _League_ watched her go, silent in their curiousity and confusion, knowing better than to emerge from their concealment any more than they already had, and even shuffled back a little, as the first choked scream erupted out of the quiet, followed by the sickening thud as the body slammed into the paving.

                A second scream echoed out not long after… and then a third. There was no fourth; instead, a body flew off of the rafters, only to be caught at the last second by an ethereal Mina Harker. She let him fall the last few inches, with a dull thud, and then placed her foot on his chest to stop him from retreating, her eyes a blood red. Her bats sank back into her, disappearing with little chatters. 

                "What do you want?" the man yelped in an American accent, trying to wriggle out from under the strong vampire, astounded that he could not. He tried harder, but ceased when Mina applied pressure. He winced, and looked at the other members of the _League_ as they melted out of the shadows. There was evident fear in his wide eyes.

                "Agent Sawyer… where is he?" Mina demanded, stabbing the heel of her boot a little firmer into the man's chest, and he gave a small yelp.

                "I don't know who-"

                She repeated the action, and growled, "He came this way not long ago. _Where_ is he?"

                The man opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated, before closing it firmly and opting for silence. Mina's growl escalated and rumbled in her throat, before she reached down with both hands, releasing her foot from his chest, and picked him up, spinning him around and slamming him forcefully against the wall. She had – in the blink of an eye – retrieved one of her daggers from its sheath and pressed it against the skin on the man's throat. 

                "What good do you think silence will bring you?" Mina hissed, pressing the dagger against his skin just enough so that a trickle of blood seeped from a minor cut. "Do you think it will bring mercy? If you do, sir, then you are sadly mistaken." 

                "Mrs. Harker…"

                "Be quiet, Mr. Quatermain," she snapped. "I am in no mood for time wasting." She brought the man away from the wall, just so she could ram him against it again, and he gave a sharp cry as his back collided with stunning force. "Now, give me the answers I desire. You do not wish to know the alternative."

                The man hesitated again, but when she growled once more, her eyes still a vivid crimson, he blurted, "All right! The building at the end of the street! He went in there!"

                "How long ago?" she pressed, persistently.

                "About half an hour ago."

                _Have I really been tracking him that long? Good god, too long… we might be too late._ She regarded the man, and then put her dagger away, before throwing a glance in the direction of the other members of the team. They seemed to understand, and Jekyll appeared a little queasy. Skinner twisted away casually, and Quatermain and Nemo turned to converse.

                "What are you going to do with me?" the man asked, his voice shaking and unsteady.

                In response, Mina pulled the man forward, and tore into him using her fangs, drawing the blood from his veins, even as he choked and gargled, struggling futilely against her. She gripped him tightly, sucking the life out of him and into herself, feeling it give her strength and satisfy her lust, before she felt him drained, and dropped him casually, licking her lips and wiping her face delicately with her fingertips. She turned her head to the others, seeing them only then turning back to face her.

                "All finished?" Skinner asked with a cocky tilt of the head. He had his hands in his pockets, and had raised an eyebrow. Mina rolled her eyes, and answered his rhetorical question by heading off for the building they had been directed to. The others followed behind her, and Quatermain came up to her side, matching her stride for stride, seemingly having no difficult in doing so.

                "Do you really believe him?" the hunter inquired, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

                Mina didn't have time for second-guessing. Their friend and companion could be in serious danger, and his very mentor was questioning information pertaining to his whereabouts. "Yes, Mr. Quatermain, I do. I have no choice but to believe him if I wish to save Agent Sawyer."

                "And you don't think this might be a trap?"

                "Not a very well planned one if it is," Mina revealed, arching a brow and glancing to her associate with an almost bored expression. "And even if it is… I plan to retrieve Tom Sawyer by any means necessary… and I hope you all feel the same, otherwise there is no point even coming."

                She pushed on faster, overtaking Quatermain without trouble, leaving him behind with his confusion.

* * *

                "Go see what's taking them so long."

                Mannings looked terrified, eyes wide, and perspiring, as he stammered and finally managed to utter, "Sir?"

                Sebastian threw him an impatient narrow-eyed glare. He hated repeating himself. It was right up at the top of his list along with ignorance and disobedience. He sighed dramatically and said, "Mannings, get your stupid, lazy ass out the door and find out what's taking my soldiers so long!"

                Mannings made a small, pathetic noise, and leapt into action, scampering for the door like a frightened animal with his tail between his legs. Sebastian grimaced at the sight, and shook his head, wondering why he had ever employed the man. Before Mannings could even grab the handle on the door, it turned and almost swung into his face. He leapt back with a squeak, and practically fled at the sight of the four figures entering the room.

                First came Falx, followed by Gladius, with Lacertus right behind him. And bringing up the rear was Exuro, wearing a dark expression that only matched the intensity of black in his clothing. Black shirt, black pants, black boots and a duster to top it all off, reaching down to his ankles, large but not cumbersome by any means. He only matched the others, save for his blonde hair, which singled him out… it bothered Sebastian very little. He smiled at the sight of the completed team, and felt the contentment settle within him at the realisation that he could continue with his plans any time he chose now.  The four stood in a line, the two alphas in the centre, with the younger pair on the outside of them. They stood in identical stances, never wavering in their posture, and looked at him for a moment, before lowering their eyes in submission.

                Sebastian looked to Edmunds, who was also smiling broadly, triumphant and relieved the team had finally been completed so definitely. All they needed to do was ensure they kept them docile and dosed, and they wouldn't have any problems. The supply of the drug wasn't a problem, so long as their funding didn't dry up… which wasn't an issue, considering most of the money came out of Sebastian's own pocket anyway. 

                Suddenly, another man – one of the closer guards – entered the room unannounced, much to the annoyance of the four gathered werewolves, who growled in unison, a most chilling – and somewhat exciting – sound, narrowing their eyes at the intruder. The man drew back from them slightly, and fumbled, saying, "Sir… we have a problem."

                Gladius perked up at the prospect of action, and Sebastian almost smiled at the enthusiasm. The man hadn't been much different in the past, as a human… so eager and ready to throw himself into the fray. It was why he had been a prime candidate, and to boot, he had given himself up willingly, without a fight. 

                "What kind of problem? Don't be vague with me." Sebastian's tone was threatening, and the man recognised this, nodding abruptly.

                "We seem to have some visitors, sir."

                At this, Exuro's head cocked to one side, intrigued. His green eyes flitted to Sebastian, and a somewhat wicked smile worked its way onto his young face. It actually warmed Sebastian a little, to see the cruelty in that expression. It was working better than he could have hoped.

                "Yes…?"

                "They've come to get him back, sir… like you said they might," the man explained, and Sebastian nodded, dismissing him, telling him curtly to hold them off as long as they could. The man acknowledged, and departed without hesitation, perhaps glad to be rid of the company of the four lycanthropes.

                Sebastian turned his head to his team and said, "You know what to do. They're not to leave the building again, understood?"

                Gladius smiled wickedly, and nodded once, with a stern, "Yes, sir." He turned, along with Falx, and left the room, Lacertus and Exuro right behind them. Sebastian watched them depart, sighing contently, and seated himself in his leather chair and grinning at Edmunds, who laughed.

                "I pity them, Edmunds," he said with a dry chuckle of his own, "I really do."

* * *

                Only one thought shot through Skinner's mind as they burst into the building named as their target, and it went something like, _I wish I had a gun!_ Bullets exploded from the weapons of the two guards on duty inside the foyer – bland as it was – and Skinner gave a slight yelp, tossing himself back out of the doorway and shedding his coat and trying to clean his face. Jekyll dropped back out after him, and offered his handkerchief, which the thief took gratefully, and used recklessly to remove the visibility aids. Jekyll quickly removed a small vial from inside his jacket, the first of roughly three secreted away – the others being in his trouser pockets for safekeeping – and popped the small cork, before downing its contents. After tossing the glass bottle aside with a tinkle of shattered glass, Jekyll reached up and freed the restraints of a tight collar.

                Skinner averted his eyes as the doctor began to undergo the hideous transformation, trying to shut out the noises of breaking and contorting bone and cartilage, and instead focusing on the noises from inside the room. The amount of gunfire signalled that more guards had arrived.

                When the gunfire only continued, interrupted sporadically by the resonating boom of the elephant gun, and a man's scream, Skinner surmised Mina and Quatermain were faring well… but they needed help, and soon enough, Hyde stamped up next to him, grunting in anticipation. Skinner glanced up, wondering whether the man could really see him. He had often mused on the subject.

                "Shall we?" he offered, and Hyde's response was a rather manic grin, with a glint in his small eyes, before he launched himself into the action. Skinner raised a brow, shrugged, and ducked into the room as well. It was chaos in its simplest form. Blood was spilled in all directions, with bodies riddled with bullets and their throats punctured. A wall of bats swirled around eerily, screeching and swarming from one man to the next. Skinner didn't know what to do with himself, so he sidled up to Allan, who was letting off precise, calculated shows with the rifle, and muttered, "Mind if I borrow that big knife of yours?"

                Quatermain did not respond, simply nodded, and Skinner grinned before removing the bowie knife from the belt carefully, and launching himself at the first man, wondering just where it was that Nemo had gotten to…

* * *

                The Indian captain had separated himself from the group at the last minute, in order to wait for his crewmen, who were arriving as he glanced over his shoulder at the explosion of gunfire from in the building. Mrs. Harker had seen him leave, and had nodded her head in understanding as to his delay, trusting him to return with the aid he always seemed to provide. The sailors he had been waiting for came around the end of the street, carrying some equipment for the task in their hands, between them. They jogged up to him, and the most senior of them passed him a weapon he had deemed worthy of retrieval from storage when everything had begun to take a supernatural turn.

                He held the harpoon gun in his hands, and accustomed himself to the weight, before turning and heading back to the building with his men in tow. Once inside the building, Nemo had decided he would try and locate Agent Sawyer and the others quickly, and try to free them. 

                They entered the building with care, coming upon a sight that was slowly starting to become familiar to Nemo. Hyde was swinging his tree-trunk limbs in each direction to slam his enemies away or into the ground. Allan Quatermain was calculating exact shots into vulnerable areas on his distant opponents, slamming the stock of the rifle into the face of any who ventured closer. Mina Harker was swooping from victim to victim, tearing their throats away or simply snapping their necks before they could turn their guns upon her. And finally, a floating bowie knife dispatched of stragglers, those who were too stupid or too clumsy not to notice the disembodied weapon swinging towards them for a killing blow. 

                Nemo kicked out at a man who seemed willing to try his chances with the newcomers, and the loyal crew around him fired their own bullets into the fray, careful with their shots. The last thing they wanted or needed was to wound one of their own. 

                Needless to say, it wasn't long before there were bodies littering the floor, and the _League_ – along with Nemo's men – stood stoically triumphant, before pressing to the door that the men had been guarding, and had subsequently surged from. 

                Sharing a prepared glance, the _League_ approached it.

* * *

                Amidst the darkened corridors down in the lower levels of the headquarters for Sebastian Woods' operation, four nightmarish figures lurked, looming and skulking in the shadows and recesses where not even the wan light of the nearby rooms dare venture. They could smell and sense one another… and the approaching figures. If it had been at all possible, they would have grinned in their lupine forms, teeth bared in humoured visages.

                Falx, Gladius, Lacertus and Exuro paced and waited… eager for their prey and their victims to draw foolishly closer… ever closer. Little did they know their own dooms awaited them.

                Exuro's ears perked up. He _knew_ that smell… one of them was drawing closer. His shoulders bristled in anticipation, his hackles rising in a most unusual, eager way, spikes of black fur shifting upwards from the mass and shaking for a moment as if alive. He growled a slight chuckling noise, and narrowed his silver, liquid eyes, pools of hidden malice, glinting in the darkness as the unawares crewman stumbled ever closer.

* * *

                They had split up when reaching the bottom of the spiralled staircase leading down into an underground level of the building, and Mina Harker had taken the time to ensure everyone knew to be careful. Hyde and Skinner had gone off down one corridor, Mrs. Harker and Quatermain down another… and Nemo and some of his crew down the last. They branched off to investigate rooms as they went, the number slowly dwindling as the sailors found new areas to investigate.

                Captain Nemo could sense the danger in the area, his vast experience teaching him caution and telling him that a steady pace was called for. There was something waiting in the darkness… he knew it; could feel it in his very bones, and his weathered hands rested readily on the appropriate areas of his harpoon gun. Some would call the weapon extreme… he called it prepared.

                They had noticed the obvious lack of light when first reaching the level, and had deemed it necessary to be extra careful… it was clearly intentional. They were supposed to be misled by the lack of illumination, but Captain Nemo – as adept at using his initiative as he was – had other ideas. In his belt was his flare gun, which was perfect for lighting up the darkness.

                That was when he heard the abrupt cry… he recognised the strangled voice. It was one of his men, in danger, obviously, and there was no hesitation as Nemo sprang into action, his feet carrying him swiftly and agilely along the ground, around a few bends, until he saw the glinting of feral eyes… narrowed pools of liquid silver.

                And the worst thing was that he recognised them, even if he had only seen them on one or two occassions. A growl rumbled out of the darkness, the massive shadow bristling in preparation as Nemo retrieved the flare gun from his belt, and aimed upward at an angle, to illuminate the misleading shadow. 

                He pulled the trigger, and the flare shot out of the barrel, skittering along the ceiling, even as the large werewolf ducked instinctively, the flame-like appearance of the projectile alarming to the creature. The ears flattened, and Nemo got a good look at the beast… his heart sank as he recognised it in its entirety. Blood dripped disgustingly from its bared fangs and maw, its tongue curled slightly as if to brush the roof of its mouth, almost hungrily. Below the crouched, predatory form was the torn body of one of Nemo's men, the throat all but destroyed. Nemo quickly gave a silent prayer for the man, and raised the harpoon gun readily, should the need arise.

                The werewolf that was a – clearly – manipulated Tom Sawyer – either that or he was so crazed and confused that he had lost control – snarled loudly at the intrusion, and readied its body for a pounce. After only a moment's hesitation, a loud bellow exploded from its dripping maw, and the eyes flashed dangerously.

                Tom Sawyer pounced.


	19. Out of The Frying Pan

**Author's Note:** Oh dear… my update times are getting longer, aren't they? *slaps own wrist* Ow… gotta remember to keep up with all these projects if I insist on starting them. Ahem… on with BTLOTM, 'eh? Oh yes, shout outs… here we go.

**Graymoon74:** Save the werewolf Sawyer…? Oh… _are_ they now? : )

**Sethoz: **I'm not trying to kill you, no, nor am I trying to give you a heart attack… cuz that would be bad… very bad. Then what would happen to your stories? Where would we turn for _your_ dose of the angst, huh? _HUH?!_ Okay, I'm calm. Hehehehe! Pluto… so funny, yet so simple. 

**LotRseer3350:** You… you want me to kill Anise? Aw, that's not very nice. I'm sure she'll be offended… lol. I know, you're only kidding… I think.

**Raven Silvers: ***is rather shaken* Wow… look at all the pretty stars…

**Beck2:** Victims of tragic circumstance… you know what? That's a cool sentence. Loved that. How sad… I'm reviewing a freakin' review! 

**Melanie: **We've already had that part ; ) It was way back when… when Tom and Anise were kissing and fell on his bed.

But enough of that, 'eh? On with the show!

* * *

                Groaning loudly, he rolled over from his back, and winced at the harsh light overhead, before hearing a familiar voice whisper his name next to him. He forced his dark eyes open, and came face to face with a concerned Anise Delacroix. Dmitri narrowed his eyes, and then quickly pounced to his feet, alert as he could be after just regaining consciousness. A growl slipped from him instinctively, and he turned quickly this way and that… before coming to the conclusion the cage was rather solid, and the gunmen were packing 'special' ammunition. He snarled at them, glaring coldly, before Anise touched a hand to his shoulder, also having risen from the floor.

                "Dmitri," she said carefully, calling his attention to her. He saw the sadness in her eyes, and furrowed his brow, before glancing around once more, his heart skipping a huge beat and almost springing from his chest into his throat.

                "Lei…"

                Anise shook her head sorrowfully, her hair cast into disarray as she whispered, "She's gone. They killed her."

                Dmitri closed his eyes, sighing heavily in mourning for Lei, and then remembered their situation. He guessed this was a result of the short battle they had undergone with the three werewolves they had believed to originate from America initially… Dmitri remembered only a small amount of such, and guessed he had been rendered unconscious somehow, though he could not recall how. It mattered little now… all they had to focus on was escaping from the small cell, and fast. Dmitri had a fair idea as to the reason for their incarceration, especially when he saw the restraint frame set up in the centre of the room, unused now.

                "Sawyer?"

                Anise looked away for a moment, and when their eyes met again, she drew in a shuddering breath as she replied, "He was captured. They drugged him… and… I do not know what it was, but he is not Tom Sawyer anymore."

                "What do you mean?" He touched a hand to her shoulder, even as he heard the guards whispering. He rolled his eyes discreetly, knowing they thought themselves subtle, but he heard every word. He knew what they wished to do, and he knew – if they attempted such action – that they would fail… miserably.

                "The leader of this organisation started to call him Exuro, and Tom… he responded. He was so cold, and… I did not recognise him anymore." The tone in her voice clearly illustrated her point, even if she could not put it into words for herself. He ran his large hand over her arm, in what he hoped was a comforting action, and nodded sorrowfully.

                He already missed Lei and her inner fire. If she were here, she would have been launching herself at the bars. Which was when he realised something, and turned his head to Anise, saying, "Why have you not transformed and attempted escape?"

                "I _have_," she told him, and sighed heavily. "The first time I tried, I realised I could not, because they had drugged us with something that suppressed the change, and the second… well, it turns out the guards were not fond of the idea, and threatened to shoot me… or Tom."

                "I see…" Dmitri nodded again, unsure of what to do, until he smelt a familiar – though not overly so – scent outside the door, and despite himself, a smile slipped onto his face, even as he realised the identity.

* * *

                Exuro roared as he launched himself through the air towards the man who was threatening him with the large, rather imposing weapon, which clicked in an affirming manner as it loaded loudly. He knew he should have recognised the man, but that was far from his list of priorities… which, so far, comprised of find the intruders, and kill them all… horribly.

                The first on his makeshift mental list was this man, who raised his weapon even higher, even as the lycanthrope bellowed again, large ears flattening back against his broad skull, teeth bared threateningly, eyes flashing a feral silver like a liquid metal as they caught the low light.

                And then the huge weapon fired, a gigantic harpoon rocketing out of the barrel of the gun, shooting towards Exuro, even as he careened towards the man on the firing end. It drew closer and closer, and the werewolf tried to angle his body enough for it to miss him, twisting slightly and attempting to clear it altogether, giving a loud pained yelp of a noise when it grazed his right side, drawing thick, oozing blood. 

                He fell short of his target, panting and growling, crimson blood soaking into his fur from the wound, and he lifted his jowls in an angry snarl at the offender. His ears were flat back against his head, and his eyes were barely more than infuriated, silver slits of pure rage, saliva dripping ruthlessly from his fangs, as they parted a little, his large black claws digging as much as possible into the hard ground beneath him and dragging up small pieces of the flooring. His hackles bristled dangerously, and he advanced one step, feeling the wound begin to heal in his side already.

                "I would not advance any further if I were you, Agent Sawyer."

                Exuro froze, the name calling up some inner recollection from deep inside his being, and causing everything – including time, it seemed – to stop at once. He glared, the growl dying away for a moment as part of the cloud in his head cleared for a moment; long enough for him to listen to the irritating man persist.

                "You and I are associates, though you seem not to recall my face, or my name, or you would not attack me as you have attempted. Something has been forced upon you, and it is not by your own choice that you are acting so volatile. I advise that you desist, and allow us to help you to regain what has been taken."

                _Something is wrong here… but I cannot figure out **which** part of it…_ Exuro growled, irritated by the confusion, and slinked back into the shadows, stepping cautiously over what remained of his kill, before turning down one of the adjoining corridors from which he had previously ambushed, and fled, trying to fathom what was happening to him. As he slowed, he reared up onto two legs, and forced his human side to emerge, before heading to where he had left his attire, without hesitation, eyes blazing with intent, still silver for a moment longer before melting into a cool green, and he smiled cruelly as another familiar – yet somehow enticing – scent filled him.

* * *

                Mina could smell him… he was here. But the most confusing part of the whole situation was that he was in motion… why was he moving? If he had been captured – as they suspected – then why was he roaming the –

                A sudden thought stopped her in her unnecessary musing, and she sighed regretfully. Tom had been brainwashed, it seemed, and was now operating under Government influence, not his own. And with his new abilities, he was more than a little dangerous. She started to cast her reddening eyes about in the darkness, waiting for him to appear from around any of the lurking corners. 

                She had a dreadful feeling he would come after her, since her scent was more individual than the others, even Hyde, who had a rather powerful odour. She made a mental note never to tell Mr. Hyde that for herself, and reminded herself to watch her back for any signs of possible ambush. From their encounter in Paris after Tom's first transformation, she wasn't entirely confident that she could handle him… especially if he chose to attack in lycanthropic form.

                Which was when she smelt the frightfully close scent… heard the low growl, and saw the slight glint of silver in the looming darkness.

* * *

                The alpha pair growled in perfect unison as they paced, their eyes – yellow and black respectively – searched the wanly lit areas they passed for any potential victims or prey. The two were soaked around the muzzles and paws with the blood of the Indian crewmen, and they revelled in each new slaughter. Now all they needed was a challenge. Then, the two lifted their heads simultaneously. They grinned lupine grins as they realised they had found just what they were looking for, and started forward in an eager yet lolling gait towards the next junction, where a large central room split off into the different corridors that led to varying areas in the complex. 

                When they reached the junction, their growls intensified at the sight of a familiar foe, one Gladius recognised mostly from the recollection of the burning pain in his ribcage that flared up at the hulking mass in front of him. He remembered how he had been barrelled aside as though he weighed next to nothing, and his ears lowered threateningly, the grey hair along his shoulders and spine bristling and rising as his hackles came into life.

                Falx arched her spine, and flexed her claws in a challenge, canine head twisting in a silent goading motion, daring the large… thing to come forward and attack them. They were curious as to what would happen if he simply sustained a scratch or bite… would he change, or would the wound cause his physiology to rage out of control?

                The two were determined to find out… being notoriously curious… not to mention cruel.

* * *

                Little did Skinner know that he had picked up a less than inanimate shadow, one with flashing yellow eyes, and sharp claws, dagger-like teeth and the full intent of using said teeth to rip out the invisible man's throat. Lacertus trailed dangerously close, unbeknownst to the thief, who was trying to find Sawyer and the others, possibly to free them. He still wished he had a gun, but he hoped his lack of visibility would help give him an edge.

                Lacertus resisted giving a low chuckle at the man, even as he approached a door, and the werewolf froze. All be damned, he had found the incarceration room! He didn't know how, but he knew he had to stop him.

                Growling, he noticed – using his heightened sense of sight to pick out the heat outline of the man, as well as smelling him – the man hesitated entirely, before turning his head over his shoulder with a grumbled curse.

                The large lycanthropic shape burst forth, roaring like an enraged dragon as its eyes flared like fire, his maw wide and ready to snap closed on the closest part of the body he was aiming for. What he didn't expect was for the man to duck under the form, allowing it to slam fully into the door he had been trying to open, thus smashing it apart for him. Lacertus followed through with the bodily force applied to the crash, and rolled to a messy halt on the floor, shaking his head even as the invisible man jogged in past him. A few bullets erupted from the guards' guns, and Lacertus turned his head with a gruff bellow, noticing they cut off their attack immediately, and even retreated a little way.

                An angry werewolf was not a favourable opponent, they knew.  They backed away, but in his blinded rage, he surged forward and rammed the closest man to the ground, tearing into him with savage force and practically ripping his head from his shoulders, growling all the while and decorating the ground around him with sprayed blood.

                With parts of his prey still dripping and hanging from his jaws, he glanced eerily to the other guards, who deemed it wise to retreat from the room entirely. Some cried out in terror, and Lacertus moved to give chase, but something kept him firmly rooted. His feet would not obey, and before long, he roared aloud, his skull threatening to tear apart for no understandable reason. His maw spread wide in a pained wail, and he almost lost stability in his knees, nearly dropping to the floor in pain. Another roar reverberated around the room, even as he closed his eyes, and let it turn into an agonised howl, mingled with confusion.

* * *

                "O… kay," Skinner mumbled, before remembering his task and quickly going about trying to pick the lock on the solid cage that was holding Anise and Dmitri… no Sawyer, he noticed with a heavy heart. The frame in the room looked like some sort of restraining device, and that did nothing to lift his spirits. "Sodding hell, come _on_!" he grumbled at the lock, and heard it click in an affirming manner to the open position. "Aha! I knew I still had it in me!"

                Dmitri and Anise moved to the front of the cage, and pushed through the door, almost unbalancing Skinner without even realising it seemed. "A thank you would be nice," he huffed, surprised when Anise took a hold of his face directly and planted a kiss on his cheek without hesitation. "Well," he coughed, embarrassed, "didn't see _that _one coming."

                "Ironic," Anise commented, and began to pace cautiously towards the oddly behaving werewolf in the middle of the room. He was writhing in obvious pain or discomfort, and wailing unceremoniously, though there were no clear wounds anywhere on his vast body. That was when his hindquarters gave out on him. His lower body collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, and his forelimbs seemingly strained to keep him upright. He began to tremble, as though cold, even though the temperature in the room was rather comfortable… even to the invisible thief. He cocked his head at the display, and raised both eyebrows in disbelief, even as the creature began to eerily twist and contort, seemingly without inner control. Random parts of his body reshaped and then snapped back into lupine form, before they all began to work in unison to return him to what he should have been.

                Anise, Dmitri and Skinner watched in an odd combination of horror and fascination as the werewolf receded in bursts, and the human form collapsed almost completely to the cold ground below him, panting and gasping, in obvious agony, groaning loudly and screwing his eyes shut. A tousled mop of black hair had sprung out from his head in place of the brown matted fur, and Skinner was oddly reminded of Sawyer. The clear locks were hanging in complete disarray, and then the eyes opened, suddenly, wide and alarmed as he cast them about himself to try and identify his surroundings.

                _Okay… why do I get the feeling that isn't normal?_ Skinner, despite his better judgement, moved forward as well, even as Dmitri approached the figure swifter. He was soon crouched down near to him, and trying to make eye contact. Brown eyes lifted from the ground, shining with tears as he gasped out, "What's going on?" His accent was crisp and American, but there was a clear tone of fear – no, _terror_ – hidden within, making his voice waver awfully. He cast a glance to the other two fleetingly, and trembled once again, obviously confused beyond the point of reason.

                Dmitri glanced to Anise, and cast his eyes over in the general direction of Skinner, saying, "It would appear that the drug has worn off."

                Anise sighed in relief, and Skinner glanced quickly back at her in what would have been called a double take. 

                "I _beg_ your pardon? Would someone mind explaining?"


	20. Into The Fire

**Author's Note: ***evil laughter is heard* … *Clez comes into the room* Did you guys hear that? … I think that was my Muse. *gulps* Uh oh… not good. Anyway, you'll see what that's about later on *wink* Now on to the shout outs…

**funyun: **D'oh… I'm too fond of that stupid word! Okay, to make up for it, I don't think it's mentioned _once_ in this chapter, lol. Sorry about that… glad you like the alpha pair… in a good, evil way.

**Raven Silver: ***looks under table* You okay? Ah yes… everybody loves allies! Apart from the people who are being allied _against_… ahem.

**Sethoz: **Hehe, glad you liked the twist. Had to put that in, and I'd been planning it for ages. Wow, I imagined him saying that… just take out the lunch room, give him blonde hair, replace Mandy Moore with Sasha… and boom… there you go, instant applicable quoteage *snaps fingers* I need a life… stat! (Get it?!) If you don't, I'll poke you…

**drowchild: **Glad you like Lacertus! I've grown attached to him as well, which is probably why that twist popped up, huh? *wink*

**Beck2:** Exciting fight you say? Well why don't we poke our heads in and have a look, 'eh?

**LotRseer3350:** I have an excuse! *holds up hand* I work five days a week for nearly eight hours! *winces* Ouch… just realised how harsh that is… oh well, Clez, welcome to responsibility *dramatic sigh*

Without any further ado (I've been spelling that wrong all along, stupid me) here is Chapter 20 of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                Zachary Fairfax glanced all around him with wide, alarmed brown eyes, sucking in rapid bursts of oxygen to better supply his lungs and keep him conscious, even with all the unusual people gathered around him, and he realised… a bloody corpse to his side. He yelped, and recoiled from it, horrified and disgusted, feeling a churn of nausea in the very pit of his stomach… that was when he realised his modesty was at risk. He was less than clothed.

                He tried to hide his body, which was when the large man next to him, the one with the Russian accent, supplied his coat. "Here," he offered, handing it to him gently and without malice in his eyes or voice. He was being sincere, and Zachary hesitantly reached forward with a trembling hand and took it, wrapping it around himself as much as possible. There was a flash of memory, of the two of them in combat, and everything he saw was in an odd, otherworldly perspective, as though seen through the eyes of an animal… him… his lycanthropic form, he realised. He remembered that clearly, and suddenly wondered where the man had gotten the coat.

                The woman was soon kneeling down near to him, with interesting brown hair cast about her face in seemingly feral spikes pointed outwards slightly, and gentle chocolate eyes, looking into his own, as she said, "It is okay… we will not harm you."

                "Speak for yourself," grumbled a voice out of thin air, and Zachary started violently. "That's the bugger who nearly tore me to bits!"

                "Skinner, contain yourself," the Russian man insisted, looking over at something, and Zachary allowed his wide eyes to follow the gaze, smelling another scent on the air… shockingly, one he recognised, and had detected before, in the past. There was another man in the room, though he was thoroughly concealed from view.  He could almost make out a vague outline, as if from heat, but shook his head briskly.

                In a shuddering voice, he asked, "Who are you people? What's going on here?"

                The woman looked him in the eye again, and replied, "You were being used by your government, though we are unsure why. You somehow shook off the control… you have returned to who you used to be."

                "Who… who I _used_ to be? I… I don't understand…" He shook his head again, looking through black locks of dishevelled hair. The shaking was subsiding a little now, but his confusion was almost too much to bear. It was swimming through him, coursing through his veins like a raging river.

                "You had been brainwashed," explained the woman. "My name is Anise Delacroix. This is Dmitri, and the voice belongs to Rodney Skinner."

                "Gentleman thief at your service," the voice announced, and Anise Delacroix glared for a moment. "Sorry…"

                "Where am I?" Zachary persisted in his desperate inquiry. Sudden, a flash of memory took precedence in his throbbing mind, and he held a hand to his skull, as he clearly saw what he remembered of his last moments… with his father, another werewolf, both of them survivors of an attack that had killed Zachary's mother. Two people, a man and a woman, had transformed whilst Zachary had been placed in restraints, and the two monsters had slaughtered his father before his very eyes… tore him apart. His eyes snapped open, and he gasped, before growling angrily, recognising the faces of the two who had destroyed the last part of his normal, even perhaps happy, life… his father's murderers. His eyes melted from brown to a cruel yellow.

                Dmitri and Delacroix backed away slightly, even as Zachary said, "I need to find them… the other two… I need to find them, and they need to be destroyed."

                They nodded. "Very well," Delacroix agreed quietly. "If they cannot be save-"

                "They cannot," Zachary interrupted, his American accent thick with anger and grief, even as he stood, closing the coat around him. "It is too late for them, and I need to finish what they helped to start."

                "It seems like he's got some of his memory back anyway," came the disembodied voice again, and it was shortly followed by a gruff 'oof' when Delacroix's hand shoved into an invisible shape. "All right, all right! I'll just keep my mouth shut, shall I?"

                "Yes," came the combined encouragement from the other two – obviously, from the scent – werewolves, as they began to head out of the room. Zachary's first intention was to find some clothing.

* * *

                Allan couldn't see anything definite in the looming darkness, and it was starting to grate on his few remaining nerves. He grumbled to himself, quietly so any lingering predators that stalked in the shadows wouldn't hear him clearly, and held Matilda at the ready should anything threaten. He could hear distant noises, like howling and roaring, and knew Sawyer was around here somewhere… it was just a matter of _where_. 

                _Come on, Sawyer… show yourself._ He had no idea why the feeling of dread was settling in his stomach, like a dead weight. He had an instinct that they were too late… but he had the impression that Sawyer _could_ and _would_ be saved. He would see to it that the boy – he had to keep reminding himself not to call him that anymore – was rescued and returned to his normal self.

                He had lost the others, and had explained it away in his mind as a simple spreading of the team. They had all gone off down different routes in order to narrow their search, to try and find as many solutions as possible and return Sawyer and the others to safety, as well as bringing down whatever maniac was at the head of this organisation. 

                The man was clearly – he was assuming it was a man anyway – out of his mind, or pure evil… perhaps a dangerous combination of both. Nevertheless, he needed to be stopped, and either apprehended or killed. Allan wasn't exactly fussed over which that was, so long as their associates were returned unharmed. 

                The sudden sound of numerous bullets exploding from guns snapped his attention from his reverie, and he quickly took off as fast as his legs would carry him.

* * *

                Exuro hovered in the shadows for a moment, his almost liquid-metal eyes gleaming in what little light was supplied in the corridors around him, and let a small growl slip from his throat as he smiled cruelly in anticipation. He could see her… hear her and smell her… _sense_ her standing in front of him, partially illuminated, and his every instinct burned for her… though probably not in a way he should have lusted.

                He wanted to feel his teeth and claws tearing into her… as well as satisfying some other hidden urge deep within his human mind that he thoroughly kept submerged in light of her awareness. She knew he was there as well, and this became obvious as her icy voice cut through the atmosphere like a wicked knife's edge, "Reveal yourself."

                Sighing slightly, and rolling his eyes, blinking them slowly as he stepped forward, he felt them return to their once-soothing shade of green, flecked subtlely with a charming hazel, and smiled lazily. "Hello." He practically let the simple word roll off his tongue, standing before her, completely clad in black, his blonde hair cast about his head in a feral fashion. "Fancy seeing _you_ here."

                The vampire, the one he recognised as Mina Harker, narrowed her eyes, which flooded a blood red for just a moment, causing his smile to break out into a full grin. "You want to hurt me, don't you, vampire? But, at the same time," he continued, cocking his head slightly, "you push the urges down… because you feel for me… for _him_."

                The vampire recoiled very slightly at that, and one of her hands shook, as if eager to lash out in retaliation, settling for verbal comeback instead, "Be quiet. This isn't who you are, and you have to fight it, Tom."

                "Oh… 'Tom' now?" He shook his head slowly. "No," he told her, dragging out the word and letting a growl extend it even more. "Not anymore… Tom's gone… now it's just Exuro."

                She paced forward one step, her own snarl snapping off short as she said abruptly, "You are _not_ one of these assassins. You are a member of the _League_ and…"

                "Your friend?" Exuro cocked his head the other way, feigning a sympathetic expression and laying a hand over his heart. "Oh, how touching." He laughed dryly, in a mocking fashion, and saw the red flood her eyes entirely, remaining. "Oh… I seem to have angered the vampire. How… terrifying." The sarcasm practically dripped like venom from his words as his face became hard, like stone, and he glared, silver flashing in his own. "Well then… we shouldn't delay, should we?"

                Harker snarled loudly, and lunged forward, even as Exuro threw himself down and below her, rolling agilely and coming up in an animalistic crouch, one that she mirrored oddly enough. The two supernaturals bowed down low, growling and facing each other off, sizing the other up as their eyes scanned over the opponent. 

                "That was a little disappointing," he breathed in a cold tone, eyes locked with hers, face set in a grimace. "I expected more from you than that. Where's the enthusiasm? The instinct?"

                "Shut up," she snapped, and he laughed again, before narrowing his eyes.

                "Why don't you want to fight me? If you're so 'determined' to 'help' me, then _try_… don't hold back. I've seen you fight; I know what you're capable of… what it is you _want_."

                "I will not try and hurt you; I know that is what you want… to weaken me, to break my will and frighten me, by taunting me, and, in case you have forgotten," she whispered harshly, blood-red eyes narrowing dangerously, "I am stronger than that… _much_ stronger, and I will not _let_ you defeat me."

                "Very well," Exuro mumbled with a sigh, and felt his muscles tense in strained preparation, as he smiled in a cocky manner, sly and filled with intent, "let's dance, you and I."

                With a feral growl, Harker launched forward, and this time, Exuro launched _towards_ her, rolling in mid air before bringing his boots out in front of him, and slamming them into her, sending her down into the ground. He landed with a graceful, agile roll, and soon rolled right up onto his feet, craning his neck around his shoulders with a blissful sigh. "Much better," he sighed, and whirled to face her, only to be met by a backhand across the face. "Oh, _now_ you want to play… typical."

                In response to her rather feeble slap to the face, he rolled his entire body around on his right foot, bringing his left up and bowing his torso down, sending it slamming into the side of her head, snapping it to the right. He followed the move through, coming back onto both feet, only to jump up into the air, and into a roll, one boot catching her as he went up and over, flipping her back and through the air, to land painfully on her back, gasping.

                Once again, Exuro landed in a predatory crouch, groaning with pleasure at the sheer thrill of the fight – which was rather one-sided, he thought, at least for the time being – and placed one hand on the floor, his other poised up on one knee, raising his head to glance at her rising.

                "Now _that_," he told her, "is what _I_ call play."

* * *

                Mina gasped and winced as she hit the floor, ignoring 'Tom's' taunt as he crouched on the ground. She rolled onto her knees, and rose to her feet, shaking her head briefly, her hair in curled disarray, creating a kind of dark halo around her otherwise angelic face… save for the scarlet eyes. 

                Another growl escaped her, and she whipped two daggers out of their confinement, letting them catch the light. She noticed the slight widening of Exuro's – as he seemed to wish to be known… for the time being at least – eyes, and his snarl, his lip curling into a scowl. He knew they were silver… the one thing that could do him serious damage.

                Mina just hoped she wouldn't be forced to seriously – with intent – use them against one of her own – and dearest – friends. She had only torn them from her coat in order to show him she _would_ use them if forced to… something she dreaded the very thought of in itself. She narrowed her eyes at him, and said slyly, "Ah yes, it is good to see you haven't forgotten about these."

                Slowly but surely, he stood to his full height, his cold, hard gaze never leaving her own, and he carefully said, "I have a feeling you wouldn't _dare_ to use those… but if you feel brave enough to _try_… do go ahead."

                Mina sighed. She had been dreading that response. "Very well… you leave me no choice."

                And then, instead of launching bodily at him, she exploded into a solid wall of screeching, flapping bats that proceeded to swarm and skitter towards Exuro. His green eyes widened, and then subsequently swiftly narrowed again as – with a flourish and a grimace of determination – he tore his Colt pistols from his waist holsters, and let off alternating shots into the flock.

                His growl turned into a yell of anger as she dodged and swirled to avoid the bullets that only ended up slamming and breaking into the opposite wall at the end of the corridor, one catching her on her right arm nonetheless, only shocking her slightly as it nicked the flesh. As she neared him, feeling the uttermost outer wings brushing the barrels of the now quiet guns, he threw himself back and down, instinctively covering his head as though the bats were a burning black fire that would consume him otherwise.

                Having a gut feeling, Mina returned to her original form, and sank to the ground, rolling again, and rising up, twisting her body halfway to launch one of the daggers in his direction. Her feeling had been correct, and Exuro had indeed risen from the ground, only to propel himself into the air, bringing his knees up under him and tucking his legs up to avoid the blade as it careened beneath him, lodging securely into the same wall the bullets had broken up.

                Landing, bringing down one hand – still holding the Colts – to steady himself, Exuro glared at her, before a gunshot boomed like a resonating crack of thunder overhead, and the werewolf leapt forward, _over_ Mina, to place her between whoever was putting his life under threat.

                Mina sprang to her feet, and quickly realised who was at the trigger end of the elephant gun… Allan Quatermain.

                Exuro was on his feet again within a heartbeat, his duster swinging atmospherically around his ankles, his breathing audible in the otherwise silent corridor – wide as it was – with his – obviously still useable; as in loaded – Colts levelled on his 'opponent'… his former teacher.

                Mentor and protégé locked eyes, and a growl filled the air, low and rumbling, like a storm threatening on the horizon, ready to tear apart the skies at a moment's notice. 

                "Sawyer," Quatermain said slowly and clearly, never taking his gaze away from his addressee. He took a definite step forward, and Exuro – or Sawyer… or Tom – did not move, stayed firm in his stance.

                "_Sawyer_…" the older man said again, his accent shaping the word differently than Mina would have pronounced it and making it sound so much more individual somehow, though the vampire didn't know how. Subtlely, almost unnoticeably, she inched out from between the two, a horrible feeling sinking into the pit of her stomach and weighing her down.

                Once again, the name rang out from Quatermain, "**_Sawyer_**…"

                "No!" came the younger man's vehement negative, and he clamped his eyes closed, even as Mina noticed the single tear falling.

                A booming gunshot filled the corridor, followed by a ringing, masculine cry of pain.

                Silence…


	21. Escape?

**Author's Note: **Okay, this chapter gets… hmm… quite a high rating. R maybe? It gets quite graphic at one point, and I just wanted to give you forewarning. It's fair right? Oh yes… *hides away in her bunker due to a certain aspect of the chapter* Aheh… And for some reason, I feel like acknowledging all reviewers… weird.

**Emily M. Hanson: **Yes, yes I do. *grins*

**Melanie: **Did he? Glad you loved the fighting.

**Mrs Sawyer: **Thanks. Glad you loved that bit, I liked it too. Some could say I enjoyed writing it too much, aheh.

**LotRseer3350: **So, don't kill anyone? Quite a good theory you've got there… you'll have to wait and see.

**Graymoon74: **Me? A cliffhanger? Pff, never. Lol, yeah, if you believe that you'll believe anything. So many bits you loved! Ugh, you spoil me, Graymoon74, you really do. And I appreciate every word. Mina kicks butt, indeed she does. And yes she really was trying, bless her. Sigh, she's so considerate, hehe. 

**Gijinka Renamon: **What's going to happen? You'll see… you'll see. 

**hot-pepper96: **I do love to torture the readers with the suspense, yes… it is very fun. You'll see just how much… Mwahahaha! You love me? Aw, thanks!

**Sethoz: **Did I? Hmm, you'll have to wait and see. Hmm, both good points, but are you right? Ooh, tough question in need of an answer I'm sure. But am I going to tell you or keep you in horrible torturing suspense? And you get UBER points for that quoteage! Very cleverly done, nice job *claps* Didn't notice that at first, lol. Yes, I'm dense. Faking it…? Another interesting theory.

**funyun: **All these good theories, but who's right I wonder? Well, I don't wonder, I know, but… hehe.

**Capt. Cow: ***brandishes award* Haha! I win! Thanks.

**Raven Silvers: **Thank you kindly, Rave', very nice of you to say so, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

**Beck2: ***is overwhelmed by questions* Yipe… answers to come!

**Silversnow: **Here you go… your wish is my command, which I was going to do anyway but you just happened to ask for the right things, lol. 

**drowchild: **Yes, that immortal question (har, har) Who did I shoot?

**BloodMoonLycan: ***hands you some words* Here you go my friend, enjoy the new chapter!

Enough of that. Without any further ado, here is Chapter 21 of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                Edward grunted as he turned on his heels, finding two sets of eyes glaring at him from narrowed slits, one yellow and the other a deep black. He remembered them clearly, from the barn where he had thrown one casually aside with one arm, a blow that seemed to be revisiting the fleabag, as it cowered slightly, but obviously not from fear… in anger, preparation to pounce. It growled eagerly at him, and the hairs along the spine arched in a threat.

                _Pitiful_, Edward thought with a quiet huff. He turned his body completely to them and said, "Oh look… back for more." He chuckled. "Fancied a challenge, did we?"

                Of course, they did not reply, and they only growled, advancing in simple padding footsteps that were silent and stealthy.

                _"Be careful, Edward."_ Hyde ignored Jekyll's snivelling voice, and sized up his opponents as before. He knew he could handle himself. After all, had he not done so in the home of that coward Evans? He had, and he could do it again… he had defeated – or so he liked to think – these two in combat before, and it would surely not be difficult to do so again.

                The two werewolves began to pace closer, and he squared himself in preparation, smirking in an almost smug manner, chuckling quietly to himself, eager for the fight to break out. If they did not start it soon… _he_ would. They had to know he would. Did they think him the type to wait? Did they think the type _with_ patience?

_                Humph… fools. _Edward rolled his eyes, and then noticed the four-legged fleabag was crouching… ready to pounce. He grinned, satisfied now with the challenge. "Come then… attack me, mongrel. What's stopping you?"

                And with that, and a roar, the quadruped lunged, a feral roar shattering the tense silence, as the taloned claws raked their way through the air and the eyes flashed angrily. Hyde roared in retaliation, and rose his arm up to meet the foe, slamming him in the gut and sending him soaring over the alter ego's head, and slamming into the wall of the wide corridor. A sharp growl snapped his attention back to the bipedal creature, even as it surged forward, lifting a limb to strike with dagger-like claws.

                "Temper, temper," Edward chided, grabbing the arm and twisting it, hearing a foul snap and a yelp of anger more than pain. The other arm moved to slash at him, but with a savage twirl, he threw the biped through the air to land beside its companion. The two rose, shaking and regrouping, hackles rising once again in fury, as their eyes flashed bestially. The bipedal wolf started to twist its arm, and cracking and groaning was heard, as the bone melded itself back into place, muscle and tissue repairing and rebuilding, as Hyde goaded them into a second assault.

                The sound of gunfire in the background did not to dissuade him from swinging one of his arms around like a club, satisfied when he at least hit _one_ of the filthy creatures. The biped was thrown across the room, crashing to the ground in a mess, whilst the quadruped ducked under the arm, and then leapt upwards. The maw spread wide, ready to snap shut on anything in range, before Hyde did something very rare for him, considering his bulk… he ducked. He had no choice. Thrashing out only would have gained him an injury… and even Jekyll wasn't sure what that would result in. He needed to be careful; to ensure that these things did not scratch or bite him. It could result in his death, and if there was one thing that Edward Hyde was wary of, it was his own mortality and its conditions. He did not want to die, despite his outer vehemence and insistence on adventure and battle, anything that would get the blood pumping, satisfy his lust for a thrill.

                The quadruped and biped both gained their footing once again, and deemed it necessary to come at him from both sides. Using as much initiative as he could muster, Edward swung out both arms like clubs, striking the quadruped to its back, and finding that the biped ducked agilely, with an otherworldly speed and grace, swiping at him. He angled his fist and arm out of the way just in time to avoid having a great chunk of flesh removed from his limb, and roared in anger.

                _"Edward… we cannot win. We were lucky last time. Something happened and they fled for a reason."_

                Despite his urge not to, Edward agreed with Henry, but kept the worry hidden from his face as he glanced to his left and right, seeing the animals closing in on him. He knew he could not defeat them on his own… he needed help. He needed someone to come looking for him and for _once_, provide _him_ with assistance.

                Which was when a boot slammed into the side of the quadruped's head, snapping it to the side with a gruff bark of a noise, perhaps from either shock or irritation, perhaps both. It stumbled, losing balance for a moment, giving the attacker time to lash out again, swiping with a sword, and then crashing down a large weapon on the top of its head. It dropped to its side, and panted, clearly stunned, and out of the running, as its eyes closed and it shuddered. The body transformed slowly, and Hyde grinned.

                Captain Nemo dropped his ruined shell of a harpoon gun, and came up beside his friend, facing off the biped with a determination burning in his dark eyes that would have been enough to even scare the alter ego of Dr. Jekyll had it been aimed in his direction. The two squared their shoulders resolutely, and Hyde chuckled, filled with a new confidence.

                Suddenly, the werewolf didn't seem too certain of itself, and glanced between the two, backing away slowly, before taking off at a run, _away_ from them. Hyde glanced after it for a moment, grunting in disappointment, and then turned his gaze on Nemo.

                _"Say it, Edward… you know you can."_

                Gruffly and quietly, Hyde muttered, "Thank you." With that, he tried to catch the scent of any of their associates on the air, even as a booming gunshot reverberated around them, and their eyes locked as the masculine cry rang out loudly.

* * *

                Zachary, Dmitri, Anise and Skinner were on the alert, eyes ever watchful as they paced around the establishment. The former had managed to reclaim his clothing, and was now determined and comfortable in his stride, his boots slapping against the hard floor below them as they paced about, looking for anyone, hopefully friend, not foe. Not that Skinner wasn't confident that if they _did_ come across a foe, the three werewolves wouldn't be able to handle themselves. They were more than capable, he knew, and suddenly found himself feeling quite useless. Nevertheless, he had picked up one of the guards' guns, and was wielding it with what he liked to think was feigned assurance. He wanted to appear ready to anyone who might come upon them.

                They turned a corner, and Zachary Fairfax froze, turning his head to Dmitri and Anise, seemingly forgetting where Skinner was… not that he minded. The thief was still a little uncertain of the turncoat. Quickly, he said, "You need to conceal yourselves. The lupa… she's coming."

                "The what?" Skinner dared to ask, and earned himself a glance from Anise, one that he ignored. He wanted his answers, and dammit, he was going to get them. He was sick of being overlooked, despite being invisible, making it hard for people to do otherwise.

                "Lupa… it is a name, or title for an alpha female. It's Falx… _go_!" Zachary snapped at them, and upon reflection, they decided it best to heed his warning, darting inside a room for concealment as soon as humanly – and supernaturally, he realised – possible. They closed the door mostly, avoiding letting it click shut, in case it was heard, just in time for the female to step into view. She looked a little dismayed, and had clothed herself in black attire to match Zachary's. She locked eyes with him, and it appeared she was waiting for a sign of submission… one that the younger werewolf provided with a brief bow of the head.

                "I was tracking the others," he told her in a bland tone of voice. He avoided even acknowledging their direction, and it seemed as though he hoped Falx – as he had called her – would not smell them. "I lost them."

                Which seemed destined not to happen, as she lifted her chin slightly, and smiled in a wry fashion, saying almost seductively, "Why, Lacertus, it seems your attention is slack. I can smell them from _here_." With that, she strode in their direction, only to have Zachary's – or Lacertus as she had addressed him – hand latch around her forearm. She whirled with an angered growl, and rumbled, "Let go of me."

                "No," Zachary snarled in return, shaking his head. "I refuse."

                "How _dare_ you…" Falx hissed, tearing her arm free of the young man and backhanding him across the face. "Perhaps Woods should be informed of your disobedience."

                "Go to hell," Zachary retorted, bringing his face back up to level with hers, shortly before he lashed out with a fist, catching her across the face and throwing her backwards.

                "Look out!" Skinner yelped, and pulled backwards on Anise's collar, sending them both away from the door, even as Dmitri hopped aside. The door crashed open, Falx rolling to the ground with the sheer force of the blow. Skinner could see from where he lay that her nose was bleeding, and Zachary soon stalked into the room after her, utter fury burning on his face. A chill ran up and down Skinner's spine, and he shuddered involuntarily, as Anise clambered off him.

                Falx glanced around her hurriedly, seeing the company present, and looked back to Zachary, snapping, "Traitor!"

                The head of the young werewolf was shaking back and forth, and he closed his eyes for a moment, whispering the word, "No," to himself over and over again, before he yelled, "You killed my father!"

                Falx seemed taken aback by the outburst, but scrambled to her feet nevertheless, fiery blonde hair in disarray around her face and piercing blue eyes. "He was a reluctant individual and needed to be dealt with in the only way possible."

                "So you tore into him, and forced me to watch…"

                _Poor kid_, Skinner found himself thinking, and realised what it was that Zachary probably intended to do, shutting off his brain lest it come up with more unnecessary sympathies. Sure, he felt sorry for Zachary, but the werewolf didn't need his pity. He could take care of himself, and it looked as though he certainly planned to; to avenge his murdered father. 

                "It was necessary," Falx told him coldly, and there was even a hint of a smile on her face as she spoke.

                "This ends here," Zachary told her resolutely, his tone hard and carrying a wicked edge, "right now. It's over."

                Falx laughed bitterly. "Oh, you naïve fool. It's not over. You know I can kill you where you stand."

                Smiling his own lopsided, almost daring smile, Zachary leaned in towards her, and whispered harshly, "Then try me."

                It was so sudden, that Skinner and the others jumped back in shock, as the two combatants let loose their primal instincts and transformed, casting off coats and boots, before two savage beasts stood in their place. One stood on two legs, gangly and feral, whilst the other was four-legged and almost devoid of hair, with powerful limbs rippling with muscles. Their jaws parted and snarls of challenge slipped forth.

                They lunged at one another, and almost instantly a wail of pain was heard, and blood sprayed across the ground near to Dmitri. It was revealed to be Falx, who rolled to the ground with an oozing wound in her abdomen, and even as the bleeding slowed, she leapt back to her feet and slashed at Zachary with her talons, catching him on the back of the neck as he tried to duck.

                Their fighting only escalated in savagery and brutality, as they rolled around, like two dogs fighting over scraps in the bins, growling and snarling ferociously at one another. Claws and teeth flashed, eyes blazed, and blood was spilled. Before long, the two were wounded all over, limping and battered, fur matted with their own bleeding. 

                They panted, heavily, and Dmitri, Anise and Skinner watched, transfixed as Zachary closed his eyes, seemingly defeated. His limbs relaxed and though he did not sit or lay down, he froze. Falx began to pace toward him, eagerly and almost hungrily. Foul saliva dripped from her bloodied fangs and a snarl of anticipation issued from her throat as she loomed over what she perceived to be her easy prey.

                Even as Skinner moved to try and help, the smaller werewolf lunged down and forward, _under_ Falx and through her legs, before he rolled and came to his feet again. He was soon springing up onto the bipedal creature's back, and opening his jaws wide and drawing back for the killing blow.

                Falx tried to shake and swipe him off, but his claws had dug into her so deeply that they could no longer be seen. She howled in fury, even as the jaws snapped closed around the back of her neck and started to shake and twist. Skinner forced himself to look away, trying not to hear the sickening crunching and the noises that came from her neck caving in, and quite possibly… her skull, as Zachary vented his need for revenge.

                As he opened his eyes at the disturbing and hovering silence, Skinner's eyes widened at the mess on the ground that had been the werewolf called Falx. The back of the neck was completely torn away, and some of her skull had been ripped apart. Deep gouges covered her body, and to Skinner's dismay, the body was starting to transform back to its human shape.

                "Excuse me," he mumbled, and pushed past Anise and Dmitri to try and get out of the room. It made his stomach roll over time and again to look at that body, and it was threatening to make him revisit whatever meals he had eaten in the past week.  As he cleared the doorway, he let out a relieved sigh, taking in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He was shaking, he realised, and suddenly quite ashamed of the fact. The gun he was holding was rattling annoyingly, and he tried to grip it tighter to make it stop, with little success.

                When the explosion of a gunshot shattered the silence and the cry that followed it reached his ears, Skinner just about jumped out of his skin, almost dropping the weapon. He uttered a curse, and took off in the direction he estimated it had come from.

                _Please be okay… whoever you are… be okay._

                Skinner ran as fast as his rather unsteady legs would carry him, turning a corner sharply…

                … And coming face to face with a smug middle-aged man holding a gun, pointed right at him. Armed guards, all barrels and business ends levelled with the floating weapon, surrounded him.

                "I think it would be in your best interest to cooperate," the man told him with a cocky grin.

                "Oh, dammit…"


	22. Release

**Author's Note:** Hope this one didn't take too long for most of you. Tried to get it written ASAP, but sister came down, and quality time with her was a priority, y'know? ^_^ I'm sure you understand, so I'll move on. It's starting to reach its climax now, and from here on in, things are going to get… a little bit… _tense!_ Oh… and Americans, no offence in this chapter. You'll know what I mean when you get there.

**Beck2: **Yes, Hyde and Nemo do make a great team, which is why I quite often pair them together like in the film, lol. You're worried Lacertus/Zachary is dead? And yes, Falx is gone. Suspense… me? Unheard of, surely  ~_^

**Melanie: **You'll have to wait and see to find out who the man is, but… well, it is kinda obvious, as you guessed, lol.

**Capt. Cow:** Another award! Hooray! Glad that cliffhanger wasn't quite as bad, though I think I did get a few people with that one nonetheless, hehe. 

**LotRseer3350:** Hehe, who got shot? Don't worry… can't keep that a secret forever, can I?  ~_^  We both know I'm not gonna tell you, lol, but nice try.

**drowchild: **I know I didn't, Mwahahaha. Graphic… yup. Upped the rating a little too, eeep.

**Raven Silvers: **I'm getting bloodier by the chapter? Yipe. Don't hurt Skinner? … Hmmm. That's an idea, but whether or not it is one I use, you will have to wait and see, hehe. Thanks for the suggestion… I had failed to notice that  _ )

**Sethoz: **Happy bunny? Uh oh… bad sign. Back away slowly… no sudden movements… _don't_ make eye contact! Just kidding. No Sawyer? True, true… that was quite a feat, let me assure you  : )  Had trouble with that one, LOL! Yup, at last one of the bad wolves is gone, and yup, Woods has Skinner. It's a win-lose situation, lol. Still keeping up the quoteage I see… good, good.

**Silversnow:** Um… thanks? Lol  ^_^

**Funyun:** Join the club, entitled 'People Who Don't Know Who Got Shot'. Okay… that didn't make an amazing amount of sense, but you get the basic idea. Obvious solution is Quatermain? Interesting. Another person glad to see Falx snuff it. Glad you enjoyed that bit. Well, as for the attitude, she _was_ the alpha female  ^_^  Comes with the job title. 

**Emily Smith:** Just getting good? I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks, and here's the new update.

Without further ado or waffle from Clez, here is Chapter 22 of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                The masculine cry tore through the corridors like a knife cutting through flesh, chilling all those who heard it to the very bone, making shivers rise up the spines and hairs lift on the back of the neck and along the arms. It resonated horribly, carrying a remarkable distance, before as abruptly as it – and the gunshot that had caused it – had rung out… it stopped, casting the complex back into a dreadful silence, filled with suspense and dread, leaving those listeners with a sense of trepidation as to who had been wounded, hit by the deafening thunder crack of the bullet.

                Mina Harker didn't know what to do, her icy blue eyes wide with the shock of what had just happened, her breath coming in ragged gasps of disbelief as her gaze transferred from the wounded… to the shooter. She just could not bring her brain to comprehend what had transpired, her mind running with a thousand other different scenarios than the one that _had_ happened.

                "My god…" she whispered.

                "I had no choice," came the male voice as Allan Quatermain strode up beside her, his elephant gun still held readily in his hands.

                The sound – not too unlike a prolonged whimper – that emanated from Tom Sawyer – or Exuro respectively – made her insides freeze with terror. She turned her eyes back upon him, as he lay on his back on the floor, in clear agony, his own weapons dropped from the sheer shock that the blast had had on his system. He breathed rapidly, gasping in the air he needed to stay alive, and his eyes were clamped closed, teeth gritted in pain. His shoulder oozed blood madly, the injury created by the rifle large and unsightly. Despite her instincts to stay back… Mina approached him.

                "Mrs. Harker?"

                She ignored the hunter blatantly, making a point of turning her back on him, the young man's former mentor. Slowly but surely, she approached the fallen agent, seeing his discomfort, even as he drew in a long breath, his natural – at least it was now – healing kicking in and taking affect, causing him to stir slightly, groaning again. "You shot him." 

                "Yes I did… be careful."

                _Oh for goodness' sake_, she thought angrily, her eyes never leaving the form she was approaching, _does he think me incapable of defending myself?_ She huffed quietly, and came to a stop, standing over him, her daggers sheathed again now… well, the one she had not thrown anyway. It was concealed in her long leather fighting coat, under the layers, tucked away out of sight and mind. 

                "Agent Sawyer?" she ventured to say, softly almost, her concern bleeding into her tone, even as she watched his suffering lessen with each passing second, his supernatural abilities sealing the wound and mending torn flesh and muscle, fusing broken bone. 

                Against her better judgement, she lowered to a crouch, one that would be easy to spring from if he tried to attack suddenly, something she doubted in her mind, a deep, buried knowledge that something had changed. His scent had altered somehow, though she could not identify exactly _how_ or _why_.

                "… Tom?"

                A sudden intake of air caused her to half leap back and away, her instincts kicking in and bringing her into a prepared position. The hammer cocked back on Quatermain's rifle, even as the green eyes snapped open, the panting becoming the dominant sound in the silent corridor. He gasped again, the noise mixed with a pained and shocked groan that caused Mina's sympathy to swell. His eyes closed again for a moment, and then opened… slowly, as though he had been asleep for many hours, something she knew to be false.

                _Or is it?_

                "Mrs. Harker?"

                It was not Quatermain who spoke this time, stating her name… it was _him_… it was _Tom_. Not Exuro… Tom Sawyer. Her smile was slightly misplaced in the scene, but she immediately went to his side again, and seeing the woman's relaxation, Quatermain lowered his rifle, coming to kneel – rather awkwardly, Mina noticed – by Tom's side as well.

                "Tom, are you all right?" Mina asked, refusing to conceal her concern in light of the situation. He _had_ been shot after all.

                He nodded slowly, still lying down for the moment, drawing in a deep breath before managing to reply, "I think so. What happened?"

                "You…" Mina paused, unsure of how to continue. "You had been brainwashed, made to believe that you worked for this branch of your government. You…" Did she really want to tell him what he had tried to do? "You tried to attack me."

                "Oh god, did I hurt you?" He sat up a little too quickly, and made himself dizzy, or so she guessed from the immediate hanging of the head and the low groan that escaped him. "Remind me not to do that again," he mumbled, moving his right arm and wincing, before glancing to his wounded shoulder. "Okay… when did that happen… and _how_?" His eyes turned between the two of them, before he realised who sat on his other side, and then he seemed to understand. "Oh."

                "I'm sorry, Sawyer… but it was either you or me… and _you_ have the healing on your side. Me… I've already died once, and to be frank, it didn't suit me at all."

                Tom smiled despite his injury, and uttered a quite laugh of acknowledgement. He nodded again, craning his neck to one side as if uncomfortable, before asking, "Where are the rest of the _League_?"

                "We broke off to try and find you, and the others," Mina explained, noticing the immediate concern that flared in his eyes at her mention of the word 'others'."

                "Anise," he said. "Did you find Anise? And Dmitri?"

                "Not personally," she told him, "but I am sure Mr. Skinner was up to the task."

                Quatermain smiled, as if lost momentarily in a memory that was only his, and then said, "We should try and regroup. It's not safe to wander these corridors alone. As they always say… 'safety in numbers'."

                Tom nodded, just as a large bulk of a figure loomed from around the corner at the end of the hallway. Mina and Quatermain, as well as the injured spy turned their heads to see the arrival of Edward Hyde and Captain Nemo. Exactly halfway down the corridor, Hyde began to jerk and twist, yelling and in agony, as the breaking of bone and reshaping of muscle, tissue and flesh signified the return of Dr. Henry Jekyll. Within moments, the thin, copper-haired man stood nervously beside Captain Nemo, the latter brandishing his sword in a non-threatening manner, a fine layer of blood coating the edge of the blade.

                "Ah," Jekyll murmured at the sight of Tom Sawyer, "we _thought _we heard a gunshot." He strode forward, accepting the long coat that Quatermain offered to him, and crouched beside the American, quickly but carefully inspecting the wound. His eyes never left his analysis, and before long, he was nodding in an affirming manner. "The wound is already healing itself. For a rifle injury… its fast, effective work too." He nodded to Tom, who acknowledged him with a nod of his own and a wan smile.

                "Now…" Quatermain began, "just to find that Skinner."

                Which was when the sound of speakers concealed from sight blared into existence, a rather smug voice – coming from a smiling, arrogant man, Mina suspected – spoke, saying, "Intruders… I know you can hear me. I have what appears to be a floating jacket in my possession, and if you value it… follow your brat."

                With that, the small speech ended, and the _League_ was cast into unified dismay and confusion.

                "Skinner," Tom sighed, closing his eyes. "Woods has Skinner."

                "Who's Woods?" Quatermain inquired.

                Tom made it to his feet with the help of Jekyll, and Mina's slight, cautious assistance, as he said, "I'll explain on the way. C'mon."

* * *

                The floating jacket was also a pair of floating handcuffs, as Rodney Skinner stood, ashamed, in the centre of a small handful of armed guards, all of whom glanced to the empty clothing every now and again, perhaps wondering just how it could be so. Of course, they were in the presence of werewolves, Skinner knew, and he assumed they should have been used to the paranormal by now in their line of employment.

                _If they think **I'm** strange, wait 'til they see Hyde. That should be interesting._ He cast his eyes around, wondering where Anise and the others had gotten to also. After the death of Falx, he had had to leave the room, and had quickly been apprehended by the so-called Sebastian Woods and his lackeys. Skinner glared openly at the smug American 'government member', wondering just how and why a man such as him could justify the brainwashing of innocent agents for his own purposes. Simple answer was he _couldn't_… at least, that was what Skinner assumed.

                "It shouldn't take Sawyer long to track your scent," Woods was saying as he turned from the intercom system, the microphone sitting inanimately on the desk. "I got the impression during our 'chat' that he had grown accustomed to his new gifts quickly."

                "Yeah, well," Skinner began almost lazily, "for an American… he's a fast learner."

                One of the gunmen slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of the jacket, and the floating clothing dropped to its invisible knees, uttering a yelp, before drawing in a deep breath. Skinner winced, cursing the men inwardly, knowing – at least a little – better than to insult them too much. It could lead to a nasty injury he might not recover from any time soon… if at all.

                "What makes you think Sawyer even _cares_?" he ventured to ask casually, eyeing the man with contempt nonetheless, attempting to give off the air of nonchalance. "And the rest of them for that matter? I _am_ a thief, you know."

                "I don't care," Woods replied bluntly. "Something tells me that this freak show Sawyer's become a part of doesn't leave members behind. After all, you came after the boy, didn't you?"

                Skinner shrugged, causing the cloth shoulders to rise and fall. "He's not a thief. He's a spy… and at least they gather a little respect."

                "Well if they don't come for you, I have a soldier who would enjoy the entertainment of a… 'guest'."

                _Bastard_, Skinner thought to himself, hoping against hope that the _League_ wouldn't risk their lives to try and ensure his continued for just a little while longer.

                He had a horrible feeling that his hoping was useless.

* * *

                Anise, Dmitri and Zachary – now transformed once again and in an unused guard's uniform – had also heard the announcement, and were following the combined strength and accuracy of three lycanthropic sets of heightened senses in order to track Skinner… Anise had had a terrible feeling something like this would happen. It usually did… or so she thought. She had never really been in _many_ situations like this before.

                Dmitri and Zachary walked on either side of her, and the three of them travelled confidently, lifting their chins to smell the air often in order to better follow the scent they were after. It seemed as though Skinner had encountered Woods and his men along the line somewhere, and the scent of one London thief had suddenly mingled with that of at least a dozen American gunmen and one very cocky bureaucrat.

                Then another scent drifted to her… and another, and then another, the familiarity a comfort to her, like the blankets some children clutched to them in their early youth. She began to attempt to track both simultaneously, having a little difficulty in doing so, but relieved when the owners of the scents emerged from around the next turn, eight sets of eyes locking and interchanging before Tom Sawyer strode forward purposely, embracing Anise quickly.

                Anise disregarded the blood until she smelt it, drawing back quickly and stating, "You are hurt."

                "You should have seen me five minutes ago," he quipped dryly, and persisted by asking, "you heard it too?"

                Dmitri nodded in acknowledgement, and suddenly Tom tensed, eyes narrowing slightly.

                Zachary.

                Anise stepped before Zachary, between the freed American and Tom, saying, "No," sternly. "He is no longer under Woods' control. Like yourself apparently, he has been released from whatever was used against you. His name is Zachary Fairfax." She turned her head to Zachary. "This is Tom Sawyer. I believe you are both agents of the same government."

                Tom nodded slowly, and the two men skipped shaking hands in order to continue tracing Skinner's scent. Mina Harker, Dr. Jekyll, Captain Nemo and Allan Quatermain were the other scents she had detected, and she nodded to them all, acknowledging every single one as firmly but discreetly as she could, trying to avoid over enthusiasm.

                "C'mon," Tom said then, "we've gotta find Skinner before Woods…" He let the sentence hang ominously, obviously not sure what would happen to the thief if left in the hands of the – clearly crazed – leader of the organisation for too long. He could be killed, and Anise had to admit that the thought was almost more than she could bear. She frowned, following Tom closely, perhaps afraid to lose sight of him lest something terrible happen.

                Before long, the combined senses of the _League_ and the three extra werewolves had tracked the scent of the apprehended thief to a closed room, where everyone hesitated, Tom's hand frozen, reaching for the handle.

                Anise touched his arm gently, trying to bring him back to reality, locking eyes with him for a moment before he set his hand firmly against the doorknob.

                And turned.


	23. Weak and Powerless

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took so long. Serves me right for having so many projects on the go at once.

**Sethoz: **Thanks, Sethoz. For the love of Sawyer… hehe. That quote was pretty random, but you've got to love spontaneity. : )

**BloodMoonLycan:** Me and my cliffies? Aheh… I swear… there isn't another one at the end of this chapter… and it's not evil… *looks around shiftily* 

**LotRseer3350:** Ah yes… cliffies. Ahem. I don't adore them, I swear. This one was unintentional, and I hadn't even planned for this one. It wrote itself, I swear! 

**Graymoon74:** I did let Q shoot Tom, yes. Hehe, scare ya? Good, that was my intention. Don't plan to give anyone a heart attack though. I like Americans, and I don't think you're stupid… but Skinner was in a fix, and had to say something silly  : )  And that was it. 

**Raven Silvers: **I'm not going to kill Skinner… or am I?

**Beck2:** I can't help but think – whenever I see your name – that I know two people called Rebecca… ahem. Anyway. Yes, Zachary is alive. Ah yes… odds… don't they suck? Woods is a nasty git…

With no further ado, here is Chapter 23 of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                Tom felt the cold metal of the handle against his palm, and froze for a moment, hesitant as to what he would find on the other side of this door, and what he would have to do in order to save Skinner… if, indeed, Skinner _needed_ saving. He could be fine, and this could just be a trick whilst the thief aimlessly wandered the corridors, perhaps lost… or the invisible man could already be dead, and Woods knew Tom would come anyway at the declaration of a fellow _League_ member endangered.

                _Here goes nothing_, he thought, turning the handle and opening the door slowly but surely, before he strode into the room, locking eyes immediately with Sebastian Woods. The man was standing in the centre of the room, smiling smugly; with about a dozen armed men around him… in the middle of the armed men was a floating jacket that had to be Skinner. At least, Tom _guessed_ it had to be Skinner… it seemed like him from the smell of it as well, and when he looked again, there was a set of handcuffs with a life of their own behind the jacket as well… definitely Skinner.

                The rest of the _League_, along with Anise, Dmitri and the turncoat werewolf, all followed in behind him and spread themselves out as he stepped in front of them, angry and glaring. "Okay, Woods, I'm here… let him go."

                Woods seemed to consider the options, before he set his eyes on the turncoat, and Tom felt cocky for a second at the sight of their slight widening. "How…"

                Zachary Fairfax stepped forward and presented himself beside Tom, declaring, "Falx is dead. And I haven't seen Gladius in a while either… you've failed."

                Woods laughed a bitter laugh. "Oh have I? Have I _really_?" He shook his head, as if feeling sorry for Tom and Zachary. "Now, now… you should know better than that. Your father thought I was a quitter as well… and I showed him just how wrong he was."

                A loud growl erupted from beside Tom, and he had to latch his hand around Zachary's arm to stop him from advancing, especially when a guardsman cocked their gun and aimed it at the back of Skinner's leg, intending to wound, not kill.

                "Don't…" Tom whispered harshly to the other brainwashing victim, and glanced to him, seeing the soulful brown eyes meet his for a moment, and they flashed with understanding. Zachary backed down.

                "You see… Exuro knows when to keep his mouth shut."

                "_Don't_ call me that," Tom growled, advancing of his own accord, despite Mina's urging that he keep calm. "I am _not_ one of your soldiers."

                Woods looked him over, and then raised a brow. "Ah… I see someone helped you along on the clarity issue."

                The government man glanced to Quatermain for a moment, and cocked his head. "Impressive weapon… weren't you worried you'd kill the boy?"

                "I'd rather see him dead than under _your_ control," Quatermain responded coldly, and Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that. After a moment, he decided that the hunter was right… he knew he would rather be dead than brainwashed. 

                "Oh, really, now," Woods scoffed. "Are all the British – or Scottish if you please – so melodramatic about everything? I thought it was _Americans_ who blew things out of proportion! Why can nobody see what I am trying to do?" He shook his head, as though he had been served a great injustice, and sighed heavily, glaring at Tom then with a coldness and hardness that he had not seen before. "I know _you_ don't understand… hard for you to see anything that's right in front of you." Tom scowled, and Woods turned to Zachary. "And you… you say Falx is dead?" There was a pause. "A shame, yes… a tragedy… hardly. I can find another who measures up to her. They won't be _quite_ the same, but nothing's perfect."

                "You don't even care," Zachary muttered in an icy tone. "You went to all the trouble of erasing anything that she might have been before you got to her… and you don't even care that she's dead."

                "Of course I don't," Woods said bluntly in reply. "Why should I?"

                "You disgust me…" Mina hissed, her eyes flashing red for a long moment.

                Woods saw this, and his eyes lit up with a kind of sarcastic amusement. "Oh how fitting that a _vampire_ should chide me on my values!"

                Mina growled quietly, and was only accompanied by the four werewolves surrounding her. They reached a light cacophony, and Woods arched a brow.

                "It seems I have a challenge on my hands… well, the ultimatum is really quite simple. So simple… that even these two-" – he pointed at Tom and Zachary, irritably – "should be able to understand it." Glancing around the group standing before him for a moment, he pressed on determinedly, "The two of you are to surrender yourselves… and this… _thing_, goes free."

                "Oi," Skinner protested, before receiving a rifle nudge in his back, making him shift uncomfortably. 

                Tom glanced to where he assumed – from experience – Skinner's face would be, and knew the invisible man would be inwardly pleading him not to go through with what was turning over and over in his head. He was puzzling over whether or not he had a choice, and reached the awkward conclusion that those guns would be faster than any of them – supernatural or otherwise – would be able to move. 

                Tom turned his gaze to Zachary, who appeared more than reluctant, but there was a light in his eyes that the _League_ member sympathised with. He felt an obligation… in order to save Skinner's life. Swallowing dryly, he sighed and turned his gaze back on Woods. "Fine."

                Anise started forward and touched his arm, but he pulled it away gently, keeping his eyes from hers, knowing that he would lose his composure if he _did_ look at her; saw the hurt and dismay in her eyes. 

                Woods smiled. Nothing happened.

                "You said you'd let him go," Tom pushed, nodding his head towards Skinner, who – he noticed – seemed to be shaking.

                "I said I would let him go when you surrender yourselves," Woods emphasised, brushing off his tie idly.

                Tom set his jaw grimly, annoyed beyond comprehension, and suppressed the growl that wanted to rise. He moved forward, along with Zachary, to stand near to Woods. 

                One of Woods' men moved to Tom, and reached a hand inside his jacket. Tom, instinctively, grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it, hearing a horrible snap, making the man scream. The cry was echoed through Skinner, who was slammed in the back. Tom immediately let go of the guard, and held his hands out, looking pleadingly to Woods.

                "Behave," Woods grumbled to Tom, scolding, and threw a similar gaze in Zachary's direction. "_Both_ of you."

                "Let him go…" Tom repeated, unable to stop the growl that slipped into his voice, quiet but resonating.

                Woods backhanded him across the face, and grumbled, "Don't order me around, boy."

                The _League_ stood, helpless and unsure of what to do, lest they get someone hurt or killed. Quatermain's grip had tightened on his rifle enough to make the wood creak slightly, and Mina's eyes had flushed red, remaining that colour. Jekyll's hand hovered near his pocket for a vial of his elixir, and Nemo's hand was gripping the pommel of his sword. Anise and Dmitri looked ready to transform and pounce, but Woods glanced firmly in their direction, taking a surprisingly strong grip on Tom's lapels and yanking him forward. For Skinner's sake, Tom didn't object… at least not on the outside. On the _inside_, he was screaming and forcing down the lupine urges to tear the bastard to pieces.

                "All of you, stay where you are," Woods told the _League_, and turned his head to the guards watching Skinner. "All right, let him go."

                The jangling of keys was the only noise in the room as the handcuffs were removed from Skinner's wrists, and he was shoved in the direction of the _League_. The men moved to Zachary and Tom, and Woods kept his grip on the lapels of the latter's jacket. He threw Tom a reproachful glare as the man stopped in front of him with the handcuffs.

                "You don't need those," Tom told him quietly.

                "Nevertheless, one thing I'm very fond of is peace of mind." He gave a gentle shake on the lapels, and Tom sighed. He offered his wrists to the man in front of him, who took one, and cuffed it. Woods released the lapel, and the man turned Tom around, taking his arm with him, before cuffing the other one behind his back. Zachary stood near to him, similarly restrained.

                Tom knew that if he tried, he could get out of the cuffs. He just didn't want to, for fear of what was going to happen.

                "Now," Woods began, almost loftily, as if triumphant – and there was an undercurrent of it in his voice – as he eyed the _League_, "I'd like for you to leave. You have your invisible man back, and unless it is your wish to join the Asian-" – Dmitri growled loudly at this – "I suggest you pretend you were never here."

                "We will not simply leave," Mina whispered harshly, her voice carrying like a breath on the wind, a dull hiss that chilled the bones. "We do not have what we came for."

                "If it weren't for you compassion, you would have. All it would have taken was a disregard for the freak that stands beside you," he said, waving at Skinner, who squared his shoulders, "and Sawyer would be free. But instead, you gave in to your weaker, base instincts to protect… and it was your failing. Now _leave_."

                When the _League_ did nothing, Woods removed an inscribed, polished pistol from the rear of his belt, and aimed it in their vague direction.

                Tom noticed Mina – probably without realising – grabbed a hold of Skinner and yanked him behind her. Skinner made to protest, but Jekyll silenced him. Quatermain's finger found the trigger guard of his elephant gun, and Mina growled, joined by Anise and Dmitri.

                Woods sighed dramatically, tutting and shaking his head as if disappointed. "Some people… they just don't know what's best for them."

                And with that, he pulled the trigger, setting off the deafening explosion of the gunshot from his pistol, and Tom watched in horror as it hit Anise, making her cry out, even as she fell to the floor, with Dmitri at her side, clearly in agony.

                Woods opened the chamber, and spun it, removing a round and turning it in the light, chuckling.

                "Isn't silver a marvellous creation?"


	24. Wrath

**Author's Note:** This chapter is R-rated!!!! You have been warned! Hehe… just thought I'd put that in there first so you're aware. Now that that is over and done with… well, I don't really have much to say apart from the fact that this was all written in one sitting. Hope you enjoy it, despite the violence and carnage! It's drawing to a close now…

**Sethoz:** Ease up on that poor plushie, buddy… quick enough for you?

**BloodMoonLycan:** *pat pat*

More acknowledgements on the next chapter, I swear… I was just feeling lazy, funnily enough. anyway, on with **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                Anise heard the terrified and enraged cry from Tom as she fell to the ground, the silver bullet biting into her abdomen and burning wildly with the heat of a thousand suns, blinding her to anything but the agony she felt from the blow. She gasped, despite herself, and sensed Dmitri looming over her protectively and with concern, trying to talk with her, though she could not make out his words. Though she tried to fight them back, tears blazed in her pained brown eyes, and she whimpered, hearing Tom yelling and shouting angrily and worriedly for her, making out her name. 

                She had no idea what was going on around her, and she felt the heat rush through her as the silver only continued to intensify the agony she was feeling, scorching the flesh around the embedded bullet in her stomach. She let out a quiet noise of anguish again, and then felt her breathing lapse into a slow, shallow rhythm as her consciousness started to slip away. She was bleeding, she knew, but with her eyes closed and colours swimming behind them to make her dizzy despite her stillness, she could not see the extent of the damage.

                Anise slipped into the darkness.

* * *

                Mina looked, wide eyed, from Anise as she lay unconscious on the ground, to the raging form of the restrained Tom Sawyer, who thrashed and fought against the guards holding him back from Woods, who laughed evilly and twirled his pistol in one hand, before slotting it away. Mina snarled in a rage, and glanced to Allan Quatermain and her fellow companions. They shared a look of distress, coupled with determination, before they surged forward and threw themselves into combat, Skinner yelling something not too unlike a battle cry as he slammed full force into one of the men who had harmed him not long ago. The guard was thrown off his feet, and crashed to the ground with a hollow thud. 

                Mina threw herself upon the closest guard, wrapping her hands so tightly about strategic places on his head and neck, that with one savage twist, he was dead, with a horrific snap to accompany his demise. She snarled, and grabbed another who attempted to flee, tearing into his jugular with elongated fangs.

                All around her, battle raged in the large room, and despite her hunger, she noticed Woods was fleeing from the room. She brought her head up, kicked out at another guard that tried to sneak up on her, and called to Tom, "Do not let him escape!"

* * *

                Quatermain rammed the butt of his elephant gun crushingly into the face of one guard, smashing his nose and spraying blood, before turning the weapon away and punching him around the jaw, sending him falling to the floor, messy and unconscious. He dropped his gun, and did not move, even as Allan moved on to his next target… the man holding Sawyer.

                "You'd do well to let the man go," Allan said icily, not even registering his use of the word 'man' in regards to the one he had – for so long – considered a 'boy', and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, hauling him away from the restrained American. He yanked him forward, and subsequently rammed his forehead into that of the guard, hearing the blow land, and the grunt of affirmation that came with it. Wobbling slightly, the guard was punched in the face, and to the ground, to join his companions.

                Zachary Fairfax – as he had been called – bowed over forwards, twisting out of his captor's grip, and stretched a foot up and back, catching the man under the chin and snapping his head up and away. Blood trickled from the corner of the man's mouth, and Allan assumed he had bitten his own tongue. With a grimace, Zachary snapped the chain joining his cuffs, and spun, backhanding the same guard with a balled fist, the force sending blood off to the side, and before the man fell, Allan caught the side of the red substance oozing from his mouth and nose. The werewolf had probably shattered his nose and loosened some teeth in the attempt.

                Growling, the yellow eyes looked around for another target. Allan did the same, his wise gaze falling upon a new opponent.

* * *

                Skinner had no idea where his sudden bravery and determination had come from, but he did not dispute it, as he used the newfound strength to repeatedly punch the man in the face, the same one he had grounded not moments ago. The man's face took on a very odd appearance indeed, with the invisible fist that crashed down into it every few seconds, blow after blow, and Skinner let go when something landed on his back painfully.

                Grunting and wheezing, Skinner fell off the man – who was far from conscious now – and glanced over his shoulder at a man with a gun, aimed in his direction. Skinner uttered a curse, and quickly untangled himself from the jacket he had been given, only just in time to avoid the bullets that tore into the fabric that fell in pieces, torn with holes, to the floor.

                Reminding himself to be more careful, he watched the man try to figure out where his opponent was, gun barrel trembling slightly with uncertainty as to this new challenge. Skinner grinned cheekily, and chuckled inwardly, delighting in the fun that could be had. True, he was not much of a fighter, but entertainment was entertainment, and these men had tried to take something from the _League_… they would not get away with that.

* * *

                Jekyll had not had time to free another elixir from his pocket before he had been assaulted by one of Woods' men. The two had gone down to the floor in a tangled heap, limbs scrabbling for purchase on the weapon that they both wished to use. Henry could feel the small vial in his pocket, but dare not reach for it, lest he become the victim instead of the victor.

                _"**Hit **him, Henry!"_

                "I'm _trying_," Henry growled, and noted the man's confusion, using it to his advantage. He brought up his knee as quickly and accurately as possible, slamming the other man in the groin. Henry grimaced, and almost muttered an apology, before he tore the weapon from the winded man's grasp, and turned it as best he could, closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger. 

                The gunshot resonated unbearably, and the man landed on top of Henry in death, a hole blown in his chest at close range. Henry's own torso was dotted with the evidence, and – eyes wide as ever – the doctor pushed him off to the side, panting as he rose to his feet, before another man tried to assail him.

* * *

                Twirling and leaping with predetermined and practised grace, Captain Nemo delivered sharp, powerful and precise kicks to his enemies, strategic blows that left them either winded or unconscious. Their grunts and cries were music to his ears, as he showed no mercy, lashing out with all things available to him. Hands, elbows, knees, feet… they were all weapons. He did not waver in his assault on the Americans, simply continued to spin and evade their own attempted retaliations. 

                They fell all around him, and before long, his right hand tore his sword free of its scabbard, slashing one man along the back and downing him instantly. Three or four men tried to surround him, but he simply faked a smile as they closed in. He welcomed their… 'challenge', and would reward them by sending them for judgment in the afterlife… though he seriously doubted in their religious beliefs… men like these deserved no justice, no mercy. He would be their judge… and he would deal swift prosecution to all who dared to interfere with those he considered friends.

* * *

                With battle raging all around him, Tom did not know what to do. He ducked under a blow that one free guard tried to land on him in a – seemingly – moment of panic, and spun quickly, coming back to his full height. Halfway through the spin, he broke his hands of the chain from the cuffs, bringing a foot up into the air, and slamming his heel into the side of the man's head. He heard a resounding snap that signalled the breaking of the neck, and saw the man fall to the floor in death and defeat. Ignoring him entirely, he sprinted towards Anise, dropping near to her and skidding to her side, tears burning furiously in his eyes.

                "Oh god… Anise… not again," he whispered disbelievingly, and shook his head, touching her face. Dmitri reached out a hand to his shoulder. When Tom looked the man in the face, he saw – to his amazement – that the Russian was smiling.

                "She lives," Dmitri told him breathlessly, relieved, and nodded. "Go… stop the man responsible for this carnage."

                Tom growled, and leaned down, kissing Anise's forehead, before practically bounding to his feet and following his senses right out of the door, after the man who had deemed it his right to try and ruin his life. His legs pumped with the exertion, and his breathing slipped into a rhythm of steady heartbeats and slow intakes of breath, keeping him from panting or tiring himself. He felt as though he could run for an eternity, so long as he caught the man accountable.

                _Anise is alive… thank you_, Tom thought, not knowing just who it was aimed at. He was never entirely certain in his religion, and this was one of those moments were it most certainly strengthened, though unsurely. Growling, he resisted the urge to change, and use four limbs to speed his travel. He wanted Woods to see the rage in his _human_ eyes before he killed him.

                He _was_ going to kill him… this monster did not deserve leniency. He deserved everything Tom could consciously conceive to make him suffer for the horrors he had unleashed. Everything from planning this operation to bringing it into being was a crime, and he could not be allowed to live for it. He was even worse than Evans, if such a thing was possible. 

                That was when the scent took a definite turn, and Tom followed it so quickly that he was forced to push a hand against the wall of the corner to stop from crashing into it. He practically bounded away from it, pushing himself on faster, wondering just how Woods had managed to cover so much ground in so short a time. Tom's panting was showing through now, and he was growling with every exhalation… he was pretty sure the green of his eyes was gone, replaced by the fluidic metallic silver that signified his lycanthropic alter ego. 

                With a definite leap, he crashed _through_ a door ahead of him, shattering it off its hinges and slamming right down onto Woods, sending the two of them rolling down to the floor. Woods gave a shout of surprise, and the pistol clattered out of his holster to the ground. The older man struggled to his feet, just in time for Tom to pound his fist into his face, throwing him backwards, almost unbalancing him. 

                Woods shook his head, stunned clearly, and panted, "You think I deserve this, Sawyer? You think you're worthy to be my judge?"

                "I don't _give_ a damn," Tom snarled furiously, and squared his shoulders in what he assumed was a threatening, challenging manner. "All I know is I'm going to kill you, whether you think you deserve it or not. And you're talking isn't helping, because every second you waste trying to justify your actions, your voice only makes me more certain that I want to _tear_ you apart."

                Woods arched an eyebrow, and smiled grimly. 

                "What are you smiling at?"

                Woods laughed, even as the gunshot rang out from behind Tom, and he felt the bullet slam into his back. He cried out loudly, and dropped to his knees, feeling the warmth of the flow of blood ooze from the wound near to his right shoulder blade. He gritted his teeth, trying to will the bullet out of him, and gave a low groan, even as Woods strolled over to him, twirling something like a pocket knife in his hands, saying, "Thank you, Edmunds. Much obliged."

                Tom gasped lightly at the searing pain in his shoulder, and hissed quietly, looking up with pained green eyes at the approach of Woods, who said, "Edmunds is my right hand man. Good to know he's here when I need him."

                "You're welcome, sir," came the smooth accent from behind Tom, and a hand latched in the hair at the back of his skull, yanking his whole head backwards, so that his face was lifted to the ceiling. He winced, and closed his eyes. For a while, his mind was blissfully blank, being gnawed at by the burning pain that swelled from the gunshot wound.

                _Why is it always the shoulder?_ Tom thought, recalling the past injuries he had sustained there. Evans' knife in the mansion all that time ago, and Quatermain shooting him… it seemed like a favoured place for wounding. 

                The blade of the knife brushed against his throat for a moment, and Tom gave a yelp as it _burned_… silver… the blade was silver. Tom growled, and was rewarded with another application of the weapon to his neck. He tried to prize himself out of the grip, but the culmination of the wounds he had sustained, the shock and the burning of the silver was making it too much for him to simply twist out of the hold of the man, Edmunds.

                "I'll teach you how to obey, boy," Woods was saying to him, as he held the blade against Tom's throat, even letting it nick the skin slightly, "and you'll be on your knees in the end, begging me to drug you to make it easier. You'll _wish_ that hunter had never shot you with that godforsaken weapon of his. You'll pray for me to make it all end."

                Woods and Edmunds chuckled slightly, even as a snarl rumbled in the depths of Tom's throat, though they did not hear it. 

                "And the first thing I'll do to make you realise that you never should have disobeyed me… never should have defied my orders or command," Woods began icily, "is kill that bitch of yours… slowly, and make you watch."

                … That was it… that was when Tom snapped, and using all the speed he could muster, snatched a hand upward to the knife in Woods grasp, and latched onto the blade. His hand stung and bled madly, and despite all that, he literally wrenched it from the man's hand, before twisting so suddenly that Edmunds was in a state of shock as to what had happened.

                Though Tom was certain he had torn some of his own hair out in the effort, he pressed upward off of one knee, and surged forward, flipping the blade so he was holding the wide hilt, and rammed it forcefully into Edmunds' vulnerable abdomen, twisting it savagely with a growl, before kicking him backwards and away.

                _Why am I being so unbelievably violent lately?_ He didn't know the definite answer himself, but he suspected it was the bestial instincts within him that were driving him to these courses of action, which he would not have considered a month or two ago, when perfectly human and in his own, right state of mind… not that he was less than sane now… or so he hoped. Maybe it was all just becoming too much for him.

                He whirled on Woods, who took two or three wary steps back. He was clearly alarmed, and the blood on Tom's hands from his 'right hand man' only startled him further. "If you _touch_ her," Tom was growling, quite literally, "I… I'll…"

                Woods opened his mouth to say something, perhaps try and beg for his life, but before he could do so, Tom pushed off from the floor and slammed his body full force into the other man's. His back collided loudly and painfully with the floor, and Tom thought he heard a crack. He disregarded it entirely, even as he sat pinning Woods to the ground, and proceeded to pound his left fist into the man's face, thankful for the fact that he was skilled in ambidexterity. 

                His eyes were filled with unrivalled rage as he landed blow after blow, each one more forceful and furious than the last, as Woods' words burned into his mind vividly, reminding him of just what had happened. Lei's mangled corpse flashed into being in his brain, and Tom let out a yell of ferocity that soon changed and became a roar of animalistic rage. Without even realising, the sound of tearing cloth and breaking bone resonated and echoed around the sort of conference room. His attire shredded from around his frame, and even as he brought down his hand for the next punch, it flexed open into a huge paw, and latched around Woods throat.

                It did not choke though, simply pinned viciously, black talons breaking the skin on the back of the neck, and Woods gave a whimper, pitifully, and looked up with horrified wide eyes at the visage of what he had tried to harness as a weapon. The looming, terrifying black werewolf that was Tom Sawyer bellowed right in Sebastian Woods' face, sending a wave of hot lupine breath over him, making him grimace with fear. The silver eyes blazed with determination and intention, and Woods seemed to realise he was staring into the face of his own personal Grim Reaper.

                In the recesses of his mind, there was a flicker of doubt about murdering Woods… before the man had the lack of sense to say, "If you kill me, you kill the country, boy… think about it."

                _Then so long, America._

                With that, his mind made up firmly, rigid and unwavering, Tom reached back his head with another roar of silencing – at least in Woods' case – ferocity. His maw opened wide and stayed that way, even as he brought his jaws downward, towards Woods.

                "No!" Woods pleaded, futilely, and started to scream in terror… even as Tom's lycanthropic jaws closed around the man's face…

                … And crushed.


	25. Evil's End

**Author's Note:** Ack! I know one person… maybe two… or three… who will want to kill me for making them wait, and for that I do apologise. But I got up early on my day off, and I got cracking! It's nearly over now… not many left after this… two or three, at the most. This chapter isn't amazingly long, but it was the right place to leave it where I did, and you'll get a new chapter soon, I promise.

**drowchild:** Hehe, angry Tom is fun to write *grin* Yeah… this seems to be getting gorier, doesn't it? Hehe, eating Woods… how fitting. *is poked* Hmm.

**Queerquail: **Yes, I have been mean to my poor Anise *looks apologetically at glaring Anise*

**LotRseer3350: **I do believe it is as well. You're not exactly fond of Anise are you? Lol. I agree with you on the gruesome factor though.

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Hehe, aw, I loved your review *grins* Thanks!

**Graymoon74:** Thank you, and thank you. Very kind. And yes, I couldn't bear to kill Anise… again. Hehehehe, don't know why the _"So long America"_ line screamed to be written, but it was, and I thought it was quite funny. Hehehehe, I thought you _liked_ Woods *smiles*

**Raven Silvers:** You okay there, buddy?

**Nathan-Daystorm:** Thank you. I'm glad you love it… especially the carnage *winks* Had a feeling _you'd_ enjoy that, lol! *sees Moloch, and screams like the sissy girl that she is*

**Sethoz:** _Ease_ up on the plushie there! You'll squish the poor thing! I'm glad you liked that chapter. Yes, our Thomas was very violent, wasn't he? Hehe… surviving with a crushed head does seem very unlikely, doesn't it? I LOVE YOUR QUOTE! *laughs outrageously* Ocean's Eleven _ROCKS!_

**funyun:** Hehe… aheh, okay you have a point there, but don't let them *points to other readers* know that. Yeah, shoulder is quite vulnerable, disables and isn't too hard to repair. Lol.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Your name is so appropriate to read this fic… *shakes head* Sorry. Ridiculously cool? I would have to agree with you there, my friend. Hence why I write it *grins* Ooh, cookies!

**Emily M. Hanson: **Thanks, and here's an update.

**Silversnow:** *blinks* Um… lol… thanks!

Here's Chapter 25 of **_By The Light of The Moon!_**

* * *

                Loping around the bend in the corridor, he smelt the blood… the warmth and delight that came with the death of the victim, and saliva dripped from his aching jaw, a low, stealthy growl like music that echoed eerily off the walls and ceiling in his immediate vicinity. Eyes blinked slowly, hazed, dizzy but ever alert and watchful, like the creature of the hunt that he was… born for the kill, and built for power and discretion… the ultimate warrior.

                Or so Gladius liked to think. Right now he was in agony, and limping, but he could _smell_ it… his vengeance was just around the corner, feasting, from the smell of it, and he hungered for an invitation… though not for the meal… not that he wouldn't help himself to the spoils after he emerged victorious. He always did enjoy a good victory celebration, basking in the misery he bestowed upon others in his wake.

                Padding on four lupine feet, he poked his head around the corner, shaggy grey hair falling in disarray around his meaty frame, and his feral eyes narrowed dangerously at the sight of the black mass of werewolf tearing mercilessly into the remains of… Sebastian Woods.

                Suppressing the growl at the indecency of Exuro's treachery – or madness – Gladius poised for the pounce, his powerful hind legs squatting and compressing so he could leap with all his bestial agility and unfounded grace. Eyes blazing with intent and perhaps a touch of insanity, Gladius leapt through the air, silent until about halfway through his great arc, when he let out a howling bellow as he lowered towards his own victim, whose silver eyes turned upwards as the black ears flattened and the broad skull twisted to face him. 

                In the shock, he assumed, the form shifted, and Tom Sawyer became corporeal, knelt near the corpse of Woods, with Gladius' mighty form careening toward him. He looked stunned, as though he had been slapped in the face unexpectedly, and if he had been able, Gladius would have laughed merrily at the expression.

                That was when the resonating crack reached his ears, and the searing, flaring pain coursed into his spine. He wailed unceremoniously, and his eyes closed tightly as his maw opened in a silent yelp, even as he was knocked off course by whatever had hit him. He crashed messily to the floor, rolling to a stop, but shaking off the agony, and unsteadily rising to four wobbling limbs, his back all but numb with pain. Yellow eyes glinted at Sawyer, and then he screamed out a howl as the second impact slammed him sideways, blood oozing all over his grey fur, matting it and staining it. The wounds burned horribly, and he thought – with his sensitive hearing – that he could hear a slight hissing.

                He started to lose all grip on his lycanthropy, and even as he tried to scramble upright again, he shifted back to his human body, gasping and still growling, his eyes still flaring a cruel shade of yellow. He glared at Sawyer, though the young man held no weapon. He was staring; eyes wide and shocked, bloody for the most part, to Gladius, as though he had no idea what was going on and could not comprehend the situation.

                Gladius tried to move towards Sawyer, determined to tear his throat out with his last breath, when the third wound became agonisingly apparent in the side of his torso, the bullet embedding somewhere in the centre of his ribcage, along with the one in the vulnerable area near his spine, and another in his abdomen. He was bleeding madly, and Gladius panted to try and keep his lungs working… they were failing, and fast.

                Sawyer could not take his green eyes off the man who was trying to approach him, and even as he watched, the yellow melted away, replaced by a confused brown.

                Despite all his bravado and constant arrogance towards everything, Gladius just could not fight off the blackness that was rising in him, eating at his consciousness and slowing his traumatised heart as it thudded erratically in his chest. Blood dripped to the floor, and Gladius furrowed his brow in confusion, looking to the doorway…

                … A woman was holding Woods' pistol, barrel levelled – though somewhat shakily, he realised as it rattled in her grasp – at Gladius, her eyes burning with anger and pain. There was an ugly wound in her own abdomen, and she held one of her hands to it to stop the flow that was already slowing. Her face was twisted into a somewhat sympathetic, but intent expression, and she slowly lowered the pistol's end from his head, seeing him falter in his position. Her anger wavered, and she sighed noticeably as Gladius slumped backwards.

                Even as his head hit the floor, he felt his last breath escape him, and his brown eyes fluttered closed for the last time.

* * *

                Tom's breath came in rapid, unsteady bursts after what he had seen, and at the sound of a pistol dropping deafeningly to the floor, his head snapped in that direction, to the doorway, where Anise was about to fall.

                He bolted to her side, and grabbed her before she hit the ground, lowering her, and brushing her hair from her eyes, and looking to the wound she was covering. It was slowing in the blood flow, and even as he touched a hand to it lightly, he heard her say breathlessly, "It's healing. It wouldn't hurt to get the silver out, but… I'll be all right… I promise."

                Though he barely registered it, there were tears of unrivalled concern in his eyes, as he leaned down and kissed her forehead in relief at the sincerity in her words. He stroked a lock of hair from her brow, and smiled down at her, still more worried than he could remember being. "You scared me for a minute there," he told her unsteadily, and glanced to the carnage in the room. Woods wouldn't be getting up again anytime soon… or at all, now that he realised just how much mess he had made with his revenge kill. Gladius lay not far from that, his chest still, his heart stopped, dead. Woods' 'lackey' lay motionless nearby also, impaled on his superior's knife. Tom looked to the deep, bloodied cut on his right hand, and then brushed it aside from his train of thought.

                And Woods' pistol sat stationary near to Tom and Anise. He smiled at it, remembering how Woods had dropped it when Tom had ambushed him. He was suddenly very glad that had happened. If Anise hadn't found it when she had, Tom would be dead by now, he knew. Gladius probably would have made short work of him, considering he had changed back due to the shock of the attack… he hadn't expected that, and it had jarred the lycanthropy enough to make it reverse. The taste of blood in his mouth made him feel queasy all of a sudden, and he grimaced, trying to be subtle.

                "Are you all right?" Anise asked quietly, sitting up slowly and carefully. She touched a hand to his face, the skin slightly marred with blood.

                "I'm fine," he told her, swallowing unpleasantly. "I think it's just…" He indicated Woods' savaged corpse with a light nod of the head, and took a slow breath. "Starting to think that was a _bad_ idea…"

                Anise seemed unable to help the smile, as she kissed him lightly, even as the rest of the _League_ bolted into the room, skidding to halts and coming up around them, surveying the signs of combat in the room. Obviously, they had beaten all the soldiers back in the other, larger room. Even Zachary was present, looking over at Gladius' body in a detached manner.

                "Are they-"

                "They're dead," Tom interrupted Quatermain, and glanced up at the older man, his former mentor, with a sigh. "All three of 'em."

                After a moment of awkward silence, Mina said bluntly, "Good." She lowered herself next to Anise and Tom, as did Jekyll, on the opposite side. Mina checked Anise's abdomen, and Jekyll took Tom by the hand… his wounded hand. He hissed quietly, and glanced to Jekyll, and then Anise, and back again. "It'll heal," he told the doctor.

                "I'm well aware of that," Jekyll agreed with one of his trademark smirks. "But it's best to be certain, isn't it? It looks worse than it normally would be given your… condition."

                "Silver blade." Tom shrugged, and Mina threw him an inquiring gaze, before she caught sight of his somewhat burned neck, and understood, showing it with a slight nod. For once, her staring didn't bother him.

                Skinner and Nemo, along with Zachary and Dmitri, stood closer to the doorway. The Russian seemed desperate to come forward and check Anise, and Tom had to admit – to himself at least – to a pang of protective instinct. He would probably experience jealousy next if Dmitri approached, though he considered the larger man a good friend already… despite barely knowing him at all. He seemed decent enough, and capable of taking care of others around him.

                Glancing over at Gladius as Jekyll used a handkerchief to wrap his hand, Tom knew he could rest assured that Lei had been avenged, in the best possible way. It would certainly be safer without the maniac, and his superior, roaming around. It seemed all the others had fled, and Tom wished he had seen more of their faces. He was certain he could have remembered them if he had, and then he would be able to identify them and bring it to the attention of the Secret Service.

                He found himself wondering then how the Secret Service would react in regards to his lycanthropy, and quickly decided that if they didn't know… it wouldn't hurt them. With proper training, he would be able to control it fully, and apply it if he needed it in his work. If they ever gave him another assignment that was… since the death of Huckleberry Finn, the mission involving Moriarty, and his joining the _League_, they seemed hesitant to contact him, though they knew how for certain.

                Shrugging it off, he looked back at the others, and decided to confirm what he thought he already knew; "Is the fighting over?"

                "Yes, Agent Sawyer," Nemo told him with a single, slow nod of his head, his sword back in its scabbard. "They will not be trying anything of this foul sort again."

                Tom nodded, and then realised that Mina was helping Anise to her feet. Jekyll rose as well, finished with his makeshift bandage, leaving Tom to stand shortly after. Zachary shrugged off his coat, and offered it gently to Tom, who reached out tentatively, and accepted it, slipping it on, thankful for the warmth.

                "I'm guessin' you'll be wanting these back, 'eh?" Skinner suggested, adjusting the shouldered holsters, and gripping the Winchester in his hands. Tom wondered where Skinner had found them, and smiled. He couldn't remember where he had left them, and realised it didn't matter so long as he had them back. Looking back at where the shreds of his clothing lay, he thought Skinner must have got them from there, but didn't care… at least he told himself that.

                Stretching slightly to stop the aching – not that it really worked – he glanced to Quatermain, grateful for the other man's presence, and smiled as best as he could manage. Quatermain gently put an arm around the back of Tom's shoulders, and squeezed slightly, careful not to damage Tom's already wounded shoulder. He realised them – or remembered rather – that he had been shot in the back as well… 

                … He was going to have a lot of annoying healing to do.


	26. Move On

**Author's Note**: Sorry this one took so long. Ugh… bad Clez fell back into old habits. _::whacks self with rolled up newspaper::_ Ahem… much better. Anyway, on with the story… not much left now!

**Raven Silvers:** Aww… you spoil me, Raven… and I love you for it! _::hugs::_

**tp96:** Thank you. I'm glad you think I can bring the characters to life. That's very reassuring for a writer. And that last comment… wow… that meant a _lot_. Thank you.

**LotRseer3350:** Nice? From me… wowza. Had to give Gladius a memorable finish, didn't I? Was it a short update? Um… oops? Sorry. I'm glad you don't hate Anise… worked hard on that gal, I have _::wink::_

**Sethoz:** Hehe, glad you loved the last line. Hehe, your quoteage is expanding nicely, good to see. All the evil people are dead, yup, save for Lacertus… who reverted… so the alter ego did kinda die _::slaps self::_ Okay, I'm good. Anise is alive, yes indeed. Lol, unlike me to leave a cliffy, 'eh?

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Hehe… another baddie bites the dust. I like it. Sorry about the wait.

**funyun:** Lol, no he wasn't naked. When Tom transforms, he's a bit like Jekyll, he manages to keep his 'pants' (we call them trousers, lol), so his modesty was protected. Wow… first fanfic from the start? I think I feel blessed _::smiles::_

**Beck2:** Thank you, thank you. Don't worry about the delay with your reviews; I'm just glad you enjoyed it. Hehe, I think you hit the nail on the head with the asking-too-many-questions thing.

**BloodMoonLycan:** FF.net can be a bugger, yes, but that's beside the point, as you said. Lol, everyone seemed to find that last line amusing, hehe. Thank you for the compliment on how I handle Tom's character. I do try with him especially, as he's my favourite… no duh! But I hate it when characters are 'out of character', so to do it myself would make me a hypocrite. Ugh. Hehe, you called Gladius a jerk… amused me muchly.

**Graymoon74:** Anise kicked butt! Yay! Thanks, GM.

**Silversnow:** Not quite… lol, one more after this.

And without further ado, here is the penultimate chapter of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

                The trek back to the Nautilus had been long and slow, with injuries to nurse on the way. Tom and Anise stuck close together, the two majorly injured parties, and the others, keeping danger away, surrounded them almost protectively. The sun was coming up now, and people were starting to trickle onto the streets, as carriages drove here and there sporadically. The group gathered some odd looks, and Dmitri tried to hide Skinner from view, succeeding quite impressively, which shouldn't have been too shocking given his height and build. Zachary was on the other side of Skinner, effectively blocking him from view.

                The rest of the _League_ crowded protectively around Tom and Anise, with Quatermain and Nemo to one side, and Mina and Jekyll on the other. They really did look very… odd, striding down the street. But whenever one of the group returned the gaze they received, the onlooker quickly realised they had other places to be. They ushered themselves along swiftly, and were gone before long… thankfully. The last thing they wanted or needed was unnecessary attention in the four of inquiring observers or officials from the city.

                Skinner felt a little uncomfortable, but relieved nonetheless, to know that his friend was safe… Tom Sawyer had been saved. He didn't want to even think about what would have happened had their rescue attempt failed. It would have been disastrous. He hadn't seen Sawyer as a brainwash victim, but he doubted it was pleasant. Something told him that it had been a very frightening thing, given his lycanthropy.

                The thief was just overwhelmed with relief that all was back – for the most part – to how it should have been. Of course, the oddities of the return from the dead by Quatermain, and Sawyer's sudden reversion to a werewolf had thrown him… but it felt good to be a _League_ again.

                Though Skinner rarely admitted such things – given how they could be perceived as weaknesses – let alone share his feelings and thoughts with others, the people around him… the _League_ was his family.

* * *

                The infirmary was a welcome place after the government building where he had been recently, and even as he slept on the bed, lying on his side, he couldn't help but feel at home. There was a calm over the place now, as they drifted out a little way into the Atlantic, safe from attack, stationary as they sat on the surface, the waning sunlight from above reaching the portholes.

                In a kind of half sleeping, half waking state, Tom felt something slide around him, and recognised it to be an arm. It was Anise, he knew. He could smell her, and was comforted by that fact. She was all right. Jekyll had managed to get the silver out of her wound, which had pained her terribly, but she seemed to be recovering well… as did he. His wounds were sealing themselves, and over the last two days, he had pretty much been left to his devices in order to heal further. It was coming along nicely… something that should have scared him. It only reassured him. Of course, he was still a little disturbed by the alter ego that had taken over during his being brainwashed. Exuro – as it had been called – had been cruel and vicious, and had loved the combat he and Mina had partaken in.

                "Are you awake?"

                Her soft voice soothed him, and he stirred slightly, turning his head a little but refusing to open his eyes as he smiled in assent. He felt her hand brush against one of his arms, and it was a gentle touch, reassuring and soft. She kissed his cheek, and said, "Thank you."

                The two of them hadn't had much of a chance to talk in the last couple of days, given their need for rest and healing. They had been asleep most of the time, and had barely said more than two words to one another. It had seemed that, when one was awake, the other was asleep.

                "For what?"

                "For coming after me. I would have understood had you not."

                Tom opened his eyes then, and looked to her, trying not to move too much in the bed given his still-fading injuries. "How can you say that? I _had_ to come after you. I couldn't just leave you with that maniac. He would have killed you."

                Anise smiled. "I know. But, given the threat in the past, with your identity and all, I thought you might not have come. I would have under-"

                He quickly interrupted, "Hey… I would have come for you no matter what. Okay? I wasn't going to leave you there."

                Anise did not say anything else for a while, simply rested her chin on his arm for a moment, watching him. It was a most peculiar sensation, to be watched by her, with her chocolate gaze falling over him almost in study, and when he looked to her, she grinned. "What?" he asked, a little suspicious.

                "Nothing," she told him, running a hand over his cheek and jaw line, playing through his head carefully. "I am just glad you came… and that Mrs. Harker and Mr. Quatermain could save you from… what you had become."

                Tom nodded, not really sure he wanted to talk about it at all. It still haunted him, the intentions that had flooded through 'his' mind when he had been Exuro. He had wanted to tear Mina apart, and Quatermain too, for daring to interrupt the combat. He shuddered slightly, and Anise seemed to notice.

                "What's wrong?"

                "I was just thinking… what might have happened," he began, in a faraway voice, as though lost in his reminiscing, "if Quatermain hadn't got there in time. Would I have killed Mina? What if I hadn't… what if I had stayed that way?"

                Anise stroked a lock of blonde hair from his brow tenderly, saying, "It is not good to dwell on what _might_ have been, Tom. Simply concentrate on what _has_ happened, and how things are now. We are safe… _you_ are safe, and those… men, are dead. It is over."

                "What about Fairfax?"

                "Zachary?" Anise arched a brow. "What about him?"

                Tom sat up in the bed, Anise resting a hand on his chest, as if afraid to release a hold of him completely, for fear of losing him altogether. "Well… I know he's 'cured'… like me. So that's not the problem. It's just… what's going to happen to him now?"

                Anise donned a look of deep pensive thought, and furrowed her brow, before she shrugged very slightly and offered him one of her light smiles, saying, "It is his choice, is it not? He may wish to return to some semblance of the life he had before. He may wish to remain in our company… your company or mine."

                "Wait…" Tom shuffled back from her slightly. "What did you mean by that?"

                "By what?" Her eyes diverted, and she only looked to him momentarily.

                "_Your company or mine_… that's what you said. What did you _mean_?" Tom was frightened by these words; what they could mean. There was something hidden beneath them, in her voice, but he could not lay his finger on it definitely, making it an annoying enigma that he simply wanted to understand.

                Anise sighed, and lifted herself onto her knees on the mattress. "I just thought… it might be best, if you go with the _League_ and… I don't."

                Tom felt like someone had delivered a blow to his face… a harsh one. "You can't say that."

                "I can, Tom… I think it would be for the best. Every time we are together, something terrible happens, ever since Paris, and I do not want that to happen."

                "But I can't just leave you… not now, after what's happened to us… to me." Tom's eyes were burning with a passion he had not known existed.

                "It happened to you because of _me_, Tom. If I had just said no to Evans in the first place, you would not be…" She touched a hand to his face; let it run through the hair at the side of his head. "You would not be like this."

                Tom's hand reached up and took a hold of her wrist, not rough but insistent. "This is _not_ your fault, and I'm not sending you away because of a mistake. I can't do that… I won't."

                Anise smiled again, an almost bittersweet expression of melancholy that showed her reluctance. Nevertheless, she persisted in her case, saying, "Oh, but I've already decided, Tom. You will eventually see that it is for the best. I don't want to see you hurt-"

                "Then don't go."

                "But I'm only trying to protect you. You may not blame me for anything that has happened, and it may be overly zealous to blame _myself_… but I do. I don't think that… I have never felt for anyone as I do for you… and that is something special to me." When she smiled, the tears shone in her eyes, saddening Tom even more. "But though I do feel great love for you, Tom Sawyer… I do not think that we should stay together."

                Before he could argue any further, she slid off the bed, turned… and left the room. Tom stared after her, too stunned to do anything else. After a while of simply wondering what had just happened, he ran his hands roughly through his hair, climbed unsteadily off the bed, and pulled on his boots. He took off after her, following her scent.

                The people he encountered were not the ones he had planned to – Dmitri and Zachary looked at him in puzzlement, and the Russian inquired, "What is it?"

                "Anise…"

                "She told you." Zachary's voice was soft, gentle and soothing, and his brown eyes were compassionate, like his light smile. His hair curled around his eyes pleasantly, and he continued, saying, "She's been thinking about it for a couple of days now, Tom. I think she might be right."

                Tom stared at the fellow American as though he had been insulted.

                Nevertheless, Zachary was not to be dissuaded, and persisted whole-heartedly, "She has every right to leave, Tom, though I'm sure it hurts. I can't completely understand it, and I can't relate… but I can support her in her decision. I just hope you can come to understand why she's decided what she has. She loves you… but she doesn't want to hurt you."

                "Then why is she leaving? _That_ hurts." Tom's voice was unsteady, as though tears lingered just around the corner, ready to fall at a moment's notice. He tried to force them back, and for the time being, succeeded.

                "Yes," Zachary said, nodding, "it _does_ hurt. But imagine… if she stayed with you, with the _League_, and something happened to her. She was killed, for example."

                "Don't say that."

                "You see my point? _Her_ point? If she stayed, and something terrible happened to her, you would blame yourself… she doesn't want that kind of thing to happen… and she's decided that leaving to go into hiding is the best option for her… for _us_."

                Tom registered what Zachary had just said. Dmitri and Anise had accepted the American, and for that, he was warmed inside. The two had a friendly outlook, and were willing to take the other werewolf in, but that still didn't solve the problem at hand.

                In a quiet voice all of a sudden, his volume lost with his understanding, Tom said, "… But I don't want her to go."

                Dmitri narrowed his eyes, and then furrowed his brow sympathetically. "Do you know _why_ you don't want her to go?"

                Tom lowered his eyes for a while, thinking over everything that had happened, from when he had first seen Anise Delacroix in that alley in Paris, to just a few moments ago when she had told him her decision. It flashed though his mind, images and sound spinning and visiting his consciousness for a brief time, before he lifted his gaze to meet that of the Russian.

                "Because I love her."

* * *

**A/N2:** Ah yes… the next chapter will be the last. This chapter went in a little bit of a different direction than I had planned, but it ended in a good place… and what do you think is going to/should happen next? See you next chapter… _::wink::_


	27. Into The West

**Author's Note:** **_SO _**sorry this chapter took so long, but I didn't want to ruin it by forcing it out. I even made a special 'moving' song list on my computer just to inspire this chapter. It all pretty much wrote itself. And as for the title… I couldn't _not_ use it, even though it isn't strictly true, though to _me_… it kind of is. Again, my apologies that this took so long, and I hope it satisfies. Thanks.

**Graymoon74:** Tom is cured! No longer evil! Oh no! What will Anise and Tom do? Guess you'll have to read and find out, aheh. Thanks for all your reviews. You reviewed **_EVERY_** chapter! _::hugs::_

**Gijinka Renamon:** Sweet? Yay… I think. Thanks.

**Mrs. Mina Harker:** Go, Tom, go! Wait, I'm writing this. Hehe, sorry, your review was humorous to me somehow, though you have a point. Plus, that fic _is_ AU, majorly, so it's going to lead not-so-directly from this one. Thanks for all your reviews.

**BloodMoonLycan:** Aww, tissue? There's nothing wrong with being a sap, buddy, we all are at heart. Thanks for your reviews, as numerous as they were.

**Leigh S. Durron:** Don't cry! … I can't do that to Tom? You have _read_ my other stories, right? This one was mild in comparison. Who says she can't leave? Thanks for your reviews.

**Queerquail:** It had to, right? Glad you love it. Thanks.

**Raven Silvers: **Don't endings just suck? I think I'll miss this too. I've been at it for a while, and it's my longest one online, so I'm proud of that, and I've had you there to support me, Rave… Thankies!

**Capt. Cow:** Oh, can't I? Mwahahaha! Okay… I'm good now. Ah yes… forgot you were a romance fan. Well, you'll just have to read on to find out the conclusion, won't you? _::wink::_ Thanks for your loyalty to the story.

**funyun:** Ah, the Star Trek reset button… good ol' thing. It kinda is a little series, isn't it? And it's only going to expand… did I say that out loud? Lol. Only kidding. Okay then… here goes… GO WRITE YOUR OWN STORY! NOW! SKIDADDLE! That good? Thanks for your reviews.

**Sethoz: **Tissue? That wasn't _that_ terrible a cliffy… _::looks back::_ Okay, maybe it was. Oops? Ack, not the voodoo doll! No! I'm sorry! Here's the next chapter! _::cowers::_ Is it safe to come out now? And you were the other reviewer to review **_EVERY_** chapter! _::hugs you::_ Hehe. How sad am I?

**Beck2:** Thank you. You want to be surprised? Wow, I think you're the only one, lol. Here's the final chapter for you.

**LotRseer3350:** Sorry it didn't come quickly . You know… in the future, if I get attached to the idea, there just might be a third instalment, but I'm not making any promises. Hope you enjoy the end, and thank you for all your reviews along the line.

**drowchild:** Sad it is, and the end this is… when did I turn into Yoda? O.o Thank you for your reviews.

Thank you to everyone who read this story, who I didn't just mention. To mention you all would take… quite a while. Hope you enjoy the next instalment of **_By The Light of The Moon…_**

* * *

Anise was on the conning tower when the smell drifted to her, and as the breeze tugged at her hair lightly in the fading sunlight that was the dusk, she smiled amidst her wandering locks, touched by his pursuit. A lone tear made its slow, sorrowful way down her cheek. No one had ever pursued her before… not like Tom Sawyer. It warmed her heart to think that he thought her worthy of such effort, and even as she heard him climbing the steps up to the promenade deck, she sighed longingly.

She _wanted_ to stay… she _did_… she just didn't trust fate, or whatever controlled all the actions that were made in this world. It all seemed to be against them and the man she had hopelessly fallen for. Whenever they were together, terrible things happened, and… people died. Like Lei…

Lei Cheung. Anise had been Lei's friend… perhaps her only one, and the brave woman had died saving her life. She missed her terribly, and another tear fell to mirror the first, and Anise hung her head just slightly in remembrance and mourning of the Asian woman. She had not taken the time before, but as she hugged her arms around herself and recalled the details of Lei's face, she was deeply saddened by the loss they had suffered. It did little to comfort her, knowing that both 'people' responsible were dead. Lei was still gone.

As the heavy door opened, leading onto the tower with a slight groan of metal, Anise turned her face out to the ocean, illuminated by the fading sun's rays. She smelt him at once, his scent so strong and soothing to her, yet so melancholy at the same time. She had grown so accustomed to it lately, and was loathe to leave it… but as she had already decided and worked out… it was for the best that she do so. She did not want to ruin what Tom had here, with the _League_, and she was confident that something awful would happen – whether it be her fault or not, directly or otherwise – to disrupt everything. Sighing slightly, she closed her eyes and let the lingering warmth touch her cheeks.

Anise felt him come up behind her, and knew he had reached out to touch her shoulder, hesitating in the process, before lowering his hand again. He sighed lightly, and she opened her brown eyes, looking out into the gentle, lapping waves. They looked so calming, but did nothing to ease the turmoil within the Frenchwoman. She also _wanted_ Tom to touch her, to try and comfort her with his proximity… but he seemed tentative of the idea.

_If he touches you, tries to comfort you… you know you will not be able to leave. You don't want him to change your mind. You **have** to leave._ Her thoughts were irritating to her all of a sudden, so to stem them, she said, "You've come to change my mind." It wasn't a question, and he probably knew that.

"I'm here to _try_," was his gentle reply, and there was a pleading edge to his voice that cut into Anise like a knife. She had to clamp her eyes shut to stop the next tear, just in time to stop it from falling. She pulled in a long breath, and calmed her trembling voice before she spoke again.

It was his compassion, sincerity and determination – whether it be secretive and subtle or blunt and frontal – that wounded her, the way it was all transferred in his voice so smoothly, mingled with the heartfelt words. "Why do you persist, Tom? You know I have made my decision."

He did touch her shoulder then, to turn her around to make her face him, though she tried to do anything _but_. "It's the _wrong_ decision," he told her, not accusingly but firmly, "and I need to tell you that. I can't let you just walk away, knowing that I probably won't ever see you again."

"I never said I didn't want to see you again, Tom," she corrected, looking into his soulful green eyes for just a moment, and regretting it. They were so filled with sadness and longing. It was painful to her. "I just said that we should not be _together_. There is a difference… if only a slight one."

Tom closed his eyes, and when he spoke it was with so much earnesty and raw emotion that Anise nearly lost all control; "I can't lose you… not in any shape, way or form. I have to have you near me… ever since… I _need_ you. I _can't_ lose you." He opened his eyes, and looked into hers, and they were shining with tears.

Anise furrowed her brow with deep sadness, and said, "Oh, Tom… please don't… it is difficult for me to leave as it is, but I don't want to ruin anything you have here."

"Then you _have_ to stay. You're all I have."

"No I'm not… look around you. You have friends… a family in the _League_ that you are lucky to have. They protect you, they love you… and they would die for you." She smiled. "As you would for them, I know. I can't change that. I don't _want_ to."

"_I _want you to." Tom was barely ten inches from her, his head bowed slightly to hers, and she could practically taste him from where he stood, a haunting sensation that made her hunger for his touch, his kiss… for him. "I want you to stay here, with the _League_… with _me_. Please. Don't go."

Anise closed her eyes, hovered for a moment, and then let her head droop forward until it rested against his chest, another lonely tear falling down her cheek, over her lips, to drop from her chin to the floor. She pulled in a shaking sigh, and felt a hand trace affectionately over her hair. She screwed her eyes shut tighter, in the hopes that all the complications would melt away and they would be left in peace, how she always wanted it… her perfect childhood fantasy. Just her and her man… a man who risked his own life for hers, selflessly. "It's so hard," she whispered into his waistcoat, the fabric of his shirt soft against her cheek. "I don't want it to be hard… I don't want to leave you… but it hurts to think about what might happen if I stay."

"You talk about what might happen if you stay," Tom said to her gently in return, his own voice low and almost secretive, "but have you considered what might happen if you _leave_? I can't bear it… you mean so much to me already, and I want that to grow, Anise. I don't want it to fade… I don't want that to die."

Anise was stung by his words, and the depth to them, and without realising, wrapped her arms tightly around him in a clinging embrace. "I don't want to do this," she whimpered into his shoulder, burying her face in it as if to hide from the situation at hand.

"So stay."

"But I don't want to."

Tom's face brushed hers and lingered there, his skin soft and warm, and she shivered. She clung to him just that little bit tighter, her fingers latching possessively in the back of his shirt and waistcoat.

"Then what _do _you want?" he whispered the words in her ear, and his breath played through her hair. She breathed in slowly at the sensation, and opened her eyes for a moment.

Anise froze at this, unsure of the answer herself, something that frightened her more than a little. She should have been able to sort through her emotions and chaotical musings and ideas now, to pick what she wanted to do… but she couldn't. Something about Tom threw everything out into disarray. It confused her, and annoyed her, if only slightly, in the depth of her mind. "I don't know what I want… but I don't want to be _here_… on this ship. It is not where I am meant to be, Tom. I don't understand how I know that… I just_ know_ that."

"So…" Tom began, pausing. "If you don't want to stay… then you shouldn't stay." His words stunned her for a moment, in the way they _sounded_ harsh, as if he was now encouraging her to leave instead of remain. "But if _you_ don't want to stay… then neither do _I_."

Anise pulled back from him, looking him plainly in the eye in shock and disbelief, not sure what else to feel. Should she be angry with him? Or appreciative of the thought? At the moment, there was nothing there other than the aforementioned stunned feeling that settled in her stomach oddly. "You can't do that."

"I can," Tom retorted lightly, looking her squarely and resolutely in the eye. "And I will."

"No." Anise shook her head vehemently back and forth, moving forward again, stroking a hand over his face, saying, "You cannot leave. You are needed here. You can do great things… you _have._ I cannot let you give all that up for me."

Tom smiled, taking her hand in his, and caressing it affectionately. "I'm not saying I'll stay away forever, but… I need some time away from all this. So much has happened and… I need to get it all together; sort out what's going on. I don't know quite… _what_ I am anymore, and that frightens me. I can't think of any better way to spend that time… than with you."

Anise leant up into him, and kissed him lightly, pulling back with closed eyes as she said, "I don't want you to ruin your life here… but I want to be with you."

"And you will be." His free hand tucked some loose tresses of mahogany hair behind her ear softly as his smile reached his eyes. "And I'm not ruining anything. I'll tell them to come back to wherever we're going in a month or two, so they can pick me up again. That should give me time to get used to all of… this." He laughed quietly, and sighed, his smile falling for a moment. "Why don't you look happy about this?"

Anise shook her head. "I _am_ happy… but I'm just worried. What if the others in the _League_ don't understand?"

"They _will_ understand… and if they don't, then maybe they shouldn't come back for me at all." Tom was deadly serious when he said this, and Anise could feel it in his gaze and in his voice. "But if they don't… I'll make them. They have to understand. They know… they know how much you mean to me."

His words were like a blow, whenever he said that, simply because Anise was so unaccustomed to the affection… the sincere affection of a person, male or otherwise. Dmitri and Lei had been the only other honest people in her life, and one of them was lost to her now.

"Anise," Tom began, closing the slight distance between them so his words – as low in volume as they were, almost stolen by the wind – could be heard. "I… I love you."

Anise could do nothing but stare, frozen in place…

* * *

Tom looked her face over, every detail catalogued in his mind, locked away so he would never forget her beauty or passion. It worried him that she said nothing at this point, when he had admitted something so meaningful to her, something he had never said to anyone before in his life. It had taken all of his strength and effort to say those words… and she was simply standing there, staring at him as though she had been struck a blow.

"This is where you say something," Tom mumbled, nervous all of a sudden. "_Anything_."

He was concerned… worried that she would not return what he felt. Though he barely registered the fact, that was his greatest fear at that moment, as they stood face to face, the admission hanging between them awkwardly.

"Tom, I…" Anise faltered, and then smiled, moving closer to him, capturing his lips with hers in a suddenly passionate kiss that lasted only a moment. "I love you."

Tom stared right back for a moment, one of her hands lingering over his cheek and jaw, before he smiled, kissing her in return as he cupped her face. His hands trailed quickly down to her waist, and hoisted her up. She hopped up, and carefully wrapped her knees around his own beltline to keep herself up, as he held her there, supporting her legs. Her arms embraced his neck, and they pulled away from the kiss, their foreheads touching gently. They were smiling, though Anise had a few tears in her eyes. Tom cocked his head just a fraction to one side, instinctively feeling that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked her, looking into her soothing chocolate coloured eyes.

She laughed ever so slightly, the sound catching a little as she seemed to hold back the tears with a smile. "It's nothing. I can't believe… I'm just happy that I finally told you how I felt. I would have hated to leave you without telling you. That would have been the worst mistake of my life."

"But I'm not going anywhere, remember? And neither are you." Tom smiled mischievously, kissing her quickly again. "_We_ are."

"Tom… are you _sure_ about this?" She slid carefully down from his waist, her feet planting firmly on the floor with precision and grace. The depth of the question was burning in her eyes as she regarded him.

He claimed her face with his hands gently again, locking their gazes meaningfully as he told her, "I've never been more certain about anything in my life." The smile that had faded from his face returned, before he kissed her forehead, and pulled her gently to him in an embrace. He was so certain of his decision, that it pained him to think of anything other than that particular course of action now, though he knew the others would protest… but then again, perhaps they wouldn't, when they realised how much Anise meant to him. They should know that already, but maybe his decision would help. He needed for them to realise. Closing his eyes, he breathed in Anise's comforting scent, something that made him feel at home, and felt her lean in to him, as the wind tugged at them gently, almost an embrace of itself, playing through their hair and clothes lightly.

And as he held Anise, he smiled, feeling the safest he had felt in a long time.

* * *

Allan sat at the table with the others, eating a quiet evening meal that the lycanthropes had decided not to join them in. He wondered why, before realising that it was of no concern. Perhaps they just felt as though rest was in order, and he didn't blame them. After the ordeal everyone had been through, he couldn't debate the need for a little break. But knowing the way the British Empire worked – not that they knew he was alive again – the break would not last long, and they would be called into service. That was, if he understood how the _League_ worked now. No one had really explained it to him.

The meal was a simple assortment of both hot and cold meats, with salads and vegetables, something not too heavy for their stomachs after the 'interesting' situation they had found themselves in as of late. Everyone had a cup of tea to accompany the meal, and even Skinner was quiet for a change; all were lost in his or her musings of reminiscing.

But it wasn't long before the opening of the doors at the head of the room broke the silence, and a figure strode in. Allan knew without looking up that it was Sawyer, and when his eyes rose from his plate, he confirmed that as such, when the young man came over to the edge of the table, his hands in his pockets and a light in his eyes. The hunter could not decipher the light, which was odd, and something to worry about in itself, so Allan immediately placed down his cutlery, all interest in his food now lost, transferred to whatever Sawyer had to say.

Mrs. Harker, Jekyll, Nemo and Skinner soon followed suit, and before too long, all eyes were on the young American, even as he discreetly cleared his throat, saying, "I have something I need to tell all of you."

Mina Harker, for one, did not seem to like the tone in the young man's voice, and turned herself in her chair, looking at the other faces gathered as if to see what they made of the situation. Jekyll appeared nervous but attentive; Nemo was ever patient; Skinner looked puzzled and curious; and Allan… Allan had a feeling he knew what was coming, and sighed lightly, putting his napkin back on the table.

"Is something the matter, Agent Sawyer?" Mina inquired, her concern lacing her tone.

Sawyer hesitated before he had even started, and then squared his shoulders determinedly. "I'm leaving the ship."

Skinner nearly choked on the tea he had chosen to sip at that time, and succeeded in spluttering rather spectacularly. Jekyll's pocket watch snapped shut so suddenly that Allan thought the doctor might have jarred it. When Skinner had finished coughing, he blurted, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going away for a while. Not permanently. Just for a month or two… to get everything together. A lot has happened recently, and I just want to take it easy for a while. You'll know where I am, and you can come back and get me."

Mina looked as though she had been delivered a blow, as she fumbled for a moment – a rare occurrence – before managing, "But… I do not understand. We can help you. There is no need for you to leave the _League_. You are a valuable member of this team."

Sawyer smiled, gently, a crooked expression that was his mischievous trademark. He had certainly changed, matured, but he was still as optimistic and playful as ever, Allan knew, even if only on the inside. "I didn't say I was leaving the _League_." He sighed, shrugging slightly. "I just need a little break."

Jekyll narrowed his eyes, the beginnings of an understanding touching his lips. "You're going with the others, aren't you? You're going to Wales with them."

Sawyer looked pensive. "Never been to Wales," he said thoughtfully, smiling again, and then nodded at Jekyll. "I'm going with the others. I think they can help me get to grips with what I am now."

Nemo sighed quietly. "It is pointless, then, to try and convince you to stay?"

Sawyer's sigh was not so quiet, as he hung his head for a moment. "I _am_ coming back. I'll be at the same dock in two months, waiting for you, and if you don't come back…" His head rose, and there was a mischievous glint in them, showing he was being humorous.

Mina stood from the table, and walked around to stand beside Sawyer, laying a hand on his shoulder, and saying, "We will come back for you, Tom… you can count on that. We couldn't lose someone like you, who has helped us so much. It wouldn't be the same without you."

Skinner rose as well, coming over. "We'd hunt you down if you weren't waitin' as well."

Though Nemo did not rise, he was earnest in his speech nevertheless, "As Mrs. Harker has already proclaimed, something would be lost from the _League_ should you not return. I would steer my Lady back myself."

Sawyer's face showed his appreciation of the – perhaps unexpected – encouragement. He was smiling positively, looking to the faces of his friends.

"I think even Hyde would know that someone had left, and that it was for the worse if you didn't come back, Agent Sawyer," Jekyll offered, laughing nervously in support of the decision.

As Allan watched and listened to all of this, he couldn't help but feel the reluctance flowing from everyone like a wave. He felt it himself; worried for Sawyer's safety should he leave the ship… and then he remembered that the young man would not be alone. He would be with others 'of his kind', and he would be safe in their company. After all, he had hunted pack animals in the past, and they were deadly when one of their number was threatened. He had had a few narrow – and that was almost an understatement – escapes in his past in such cases. He knew to catch them alone, off guard… and knew that wouldn't be the case with Sawyer and the others. They would be careful… they knew how to defend themselves, after all. With either lycanthropic strength, or marksmanship, Sawyer would be able to take care of _himself_ as well. He was more than capable.

So it was that Allan stood from the table also, and offered a hand to Sawyer, saying, "Then I guess it will be a little… quieter, for two months… won't it?"

Sawyer regarded the hunter solely for a long time, before taking his hand and shaking it. After a moment, the two embraced, with the others standing around them. Allan felt Sawyer clinging to him, as if for stability, and knew the young man was only leaving definitely for one reason alone.

And that reason was standing in the doorway, watching with unshed tears of appreciation in her eyes. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, as if w0rried she would be attacked if not for the personal embrace. Allan smiled at her, and saw it returned. He knew what was being transferred in his eyes, and saw she understood it: 'Take care of him'. She nodded subtlely, even as Sawyer pulled away. He turned, as though scenting Anise Delacroix. His eyes lit up with hope at once, even as the woman pushed into the room, as though hesitant.

The two hovered inches from each other for a moment, with their heads bowed to each other, before Sawyer ran a hand tenderly and lightly down the side of her face, and they kissed gently.

Allan couldn't help but smile, with Skinner and Mina beside him.

After a moment, the two broke apart, eyes closed, and looking as though their breath had been stolen from them, before Sawyer turned his head – touching Anise's – to regard them with a smile touching his features.

It was at that moment, seeing the two of them in such close proximity, that Allan knew Sawyer had made the right decision… and the hunter backed him all the way.

* * *

The small dock at the very edge of the wilderness that was Wales in 1899, the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ stood at the base of the ramp of the ascended Nautilus, with four werewolves before them, one of whom was saying his last goodbyes… at least until they met again in two months.

Emotions were conflicting, and though they knew they would see him again, the air was filled with a kind of sadness at seeing him leave. They felt as if they were losing the American, and it was a melancholy time. Everyone felt something slightly different regarding the departure, but there was a shared sense of reluctance at bidding him a temporary farewell.

Mina Harker was smiling, but it was hinted at with the sorrow of the potential of losing a close friend, and possibly, a loved one. Her veil was down over her face just slightly, the breeze that swept over the dock out to sea catching at her skirts and long, buttoned jacket. Once or twice, it had been perceived that she might shed tears, but being the powerful woman that she was, and having no real reason to do so, no solid evidence had been shown. Skinner was standing in his usual stance, with his hands in his leather jacket pockets, head cocked slightly to one side in what might have been perceived as a pensive position. Jekyll was wrapped up tightly in his formal clothes, and his pocket watch hung from its little chain securely, as he smiled over at the three more distant werewolves. Nemo stood with his hands clasped behind his back, stoically silent, but not brooding in his expression for once. And Allan Quatermain stood before Tom Sawyer, smiling in a fatherly fashion, warm and supporting, even as the American glanced around him, as if taking it all in.

"Well," he said, his breath coming out in a wispy cloud of steam with the slight chill, "I could get used to this." He shrugged. "A little cold, but I'm sure I'll adapt." He shrugged his jacket onto his shoulders a little more, a pack by his feet, with his Winchester draped over it. His Colts were at his waist, and his cap was in his hand. His hair was being tugged around his head slightly with the breeze that tore at their clothing, adding to the atmosphere that hung between them.

"I thought werewolves were impervious to hot and cold," Skinner interjected lightly, shoulders hunched as though chill, which was most likely the case given his lack of clothing beneath the jacket.

"Not exactly," Tom replied, smiling knowingly. "Though there is a tolerance issue." He cocked his head for a moment, glanced over his shoulder to Anise, Dmitri and Zachary waiting about ten feet back, before eyeing the _League_ again. He could see their disinclination to bid him farewell, and appreciated their concern. But when he saw the love and compassion in Anise's eyes whenever he looked at her, he knew he had made the right choice, and it seemed the _League_ were behind him.

He thought back over what had happened recently, from that night in Paris on the conning tower when he had first transformed, all the way up to this very moment: attacking Mina and being overcome by Hyde; trying to get help in Scotland, only to run into Anise, Dmitri and Lei in the first place; being back with Anise, whom he had thought dead; being hunted by the three 'assassins'; Lei's murder, and the kidnapping of Dmitri and Anise in order to lure him to Woods; his own capture and subsequent brainwashing; his fight with Mina; being shot by Quatermain; giving himself over in order to save Skinner; Anise being shot; and his destruction of Woods, who had, in many ways, been perhaps worse than Evans.

Dmitri and Zachary seemed to be getting on well, and it was a miracle that the Russian was so trusting of – if Tom understood it right – the one who had incapacitated him before Lei's murder in the first place. But he supposed Dmitri knew that _that_ had been Lacertus, _not_ Zachary Fairfax. They were two different entities, sharing the same body. Like Jekyll and Hyde, but more subsided. And like Tom and Exuro… Tom shuddered subtlely at the thought, before shoving it none-too-gently aside.

"You know, I _am_ coming back… I've said it before, and I _mean_ it." Tom felt like he was repeating himself, but he wanted to ensure that they understood.

"Try and stop us coming back, kid," Skinner said with a heartfelt smile touching the corner of his mouth. Tom returned it, and shook the thief's hand.

Jekyll was next to bid him farewell, saying, "Take care."

Nemo bowed to him, before shaking his hand also. "I hope you find the peace you desire, Agent Sawyer. May luck be with you."

Quatermain patted Tom on the shoulder, before shaking his hand as well. They had already embraced once, and probably both felt that doing so again might be a little excessive, though the American _did_ look upon the hunter as a kind of father figure. He had already told Quatermain how glad he was that he was back once more, in the world of the living, to guide him and help him through the troubles he had come across, and the man had simply smiled with a knowing nod.

And then there was Mina. He came to her, and she smiled at him warmly, before lifting her veil, and kissing his cheek. Tom faltered there, even as she said softly to him, "Be careful."

"We will be." Tom smiled back at her, still thrown by the kiss, but reassured by it nevertheless. There wasn't really much else to say, but he suddenly found himself sorrowful to be leaving the people he looked upon as family… if only for a couple of months. It would be odd not seeing them everyday, not bickering with them… and not acting heroic. Perhaps he could use the time to get more in tune with himself, and get that good old optimism back. His smile had not faded, but now it carried a wistful edge. He heaved his pack onto his shoulder, his Winchester in his other hand after donning his hat.

"I guess I'll see you in two months." The _League_ nodded, and acknowledged.

Anise came up beside Tom, brushing a hand down him arm, as she said, "Thank you… _all_ of you. I know I hurt you in the past… but you have shown me more forgiveness and compassion than I thought I ever deserved." She smiled. "Thank you."

Mina nodded, and for the first time since their meeting, Anise and the vampire seemed to have an understanding.

With one final smile aimed at his family and friends, Tom turned with Anise, heading over to Dmitri and Zachary, and glanced over his shoulder as the _League_ headed back onto the Nautilus. The ramp rose after them, with their faces smiling out at him, Skinner giving a final, single wave, before they were completely concealed from view. It wasn't long before a churning sounded from inside the mighty vessel, and it began to move away, shoving out a little way from shore, before slowly descending into the choppy, icy waters.

Tom's smile faded just a little, knowing he _would_ see them again… no matter what.

With that, he turned to the three around him, and started to walk over the slopes and hills that was the countryside of Wales, the last rays of the sun falling on his back, and the wind behind him for a change, Winchester over his other shoulder, opposite the pack.

Special Agent Tom Sawyer sighed happily, and clasped Anise's hand in his.

* * *

**A/N2:** Oh my god… I finished it at last! Woohoo! Aww… I'm kinda sad now. _::deep breath::_ Wow… well, thank you all for your patience and positive comments and reassurance along the line, glad you enjoyed it, and hope you were satisfied with the end. Please leave your final comments at the doorstop on your way out

Ciao!

Clez


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